Night
by remnants-2011
Summary: Genetic perfection has reached new levels, allowing parents to pick and choose the genes of their children. In this new and rising society, Mutants and other Invalids have no place...Based slightly on the movie Gattaca. COMPLETE
1. The Prologue And Brian

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Loading...

...

Results ready.

PKU: Negative

Cancer: 3.0%

Alzheimer's: 0.2%

Heart failure: 2.0%

Alpha 1: 0.1%

Sickle Cell: 4.3%

Huntington's: 6.0%

Cystic Fibrosis: 5.1%

Asthma: 9.7%

Chance of Mutation: 67% INVALID. 

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A doctor clad in the usual stark white lab coat tore off the print out slowly; reading it as h picked it up.

The would-be parents were waiting a few feet away.

The doctor let out a sigh before turning and evenly walking back to them. He gingerly slid back behind his desk and sat down. With an emotionless look, he placed the result page face down on the desk and slid it towards the couple.

Looking concerned the man first gripped his wife's hand then reached forward to retrieve the result page. His eyes drifted quickly over the first few results, but stopped when he came to the final item.

He glanced back up at the doctor; handing the report to his wife.

"Is there any way the test could be wrong?" He asked, still holding on to a shred of hope.

"With Mutations? Of course. Plenty of times it simply never shows up. Your son could just be a carrier." The doctor replied. More and more these kinds of results were showing up; he had the excuse drill down pat.

The man looked over at his wife; then turned back to the doctor. "He would still be an Invalid, though?"

The doctor nodded. "I do realize that this is your third try. May I remind you that though you two are both carriers of the gene- we could always engineer one for you. We can always 'borrow' someone else gene for the now, can't we?"

The couple shared another quick glance. The man tightened his grip on his wife's hand. 

His wife gave a small, tight-lipped smile and then nodded.

They both turned back to the doctor, "We're going t keep it this time. Thank you for your trouble, Doctor."

The doctor nodded as the couple stood up and left.

__

'Another pair of fools,' He thought.

* * * * * * * * * * *

**__**

16 years later….

Oh bloody.

Waiting in line to enter his school -already late – fifteen-year-old Brian Tandon silently cursed as he saw at the entrance there was another random search going on.

One by One the students in front of him passed through, inserting their fingertip into the small, handheld machine that withdrew a quick drop of blood. On the screen of the machines the usual message would pop up; with the students face, information and in large, bold print wither 'Valid' or 'Invalid'. 

Of course, his was always marked 'Invalid'.

In case one didn't know, Valid was the term for the elite – genetically elite; that is. InValids, such as him were the ones with problems, flaws. Perhaps they had a high rate for disease, an early death, or even mutation. Brian hadn't yet officially fallen into the physical aspect of being an Invalid – for all aspects he was just as close to being perfect as any of his classmates. Except, he unlike them was marked to become a mutant. 

You'd think the school would simply remember his condition by now, he thought, moving closer and closer to the front of the line. It was his second year in high school, so unfortunately he was used to the searches. 

With that he came to the front of the line and with a sigh he slipped his finger into the machine. A slight whir came from the small silver box before the lights on it began to flash bright red and beep loudly.

The bored security guard looked down at it, surprised, then at Brian, then back at the machine. A moment later, when his file came onto screen, the guard was able to see underneath the marking of 'Invalid', there was a brightly marked note in red. It stated he was under mutant watch.

The guard turned back to him. "Move along, freak," He barked out.

Brian was happy to do so. He grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder before walking inside. He could feel the glances of the other students on him. Well, mainly stares from the ones that didn't already know. Most everyone knew by now though, the school board called for these searches once or twice every few months.

On the way to his locker, Brian considered his status for a bit longer. Really, it wasn't that big of deal, most people either didn't care or simply assumed he was lower than them. Usually the latter was the case. 

It didn't matter he did just as good academically as most of the other students, he just wasn't 'perfect'. The really annoying thing was that there wasn't even anything wrong or different about him. Yet. 

Behind him the bell rang.

Brian groaned, then took off running towards his first class.

Hours later, Brian was opening the front door of his house. 

His family wasn't particularly rich or poor; both his parents worked at a typical biotech company.

Hearing him come in, Brian's mother curiously emerged from the kitchen where her numerous papers were currently spread all over the dining table. "How was your day, Hon?" She asked, studying him.

Brian tossed his backpack down on one of the bottom stairs and shrugged. "We had another tests today." He mumbled, turning to head into the kitchen.

His mother followed. "Oh? What class? Math? Biology?" She guessed.

Brian grabbed a can of soda from the fridge, then wordlessly turned and held up his marked finger.

His mother's face fell. "Oh, Brian. " She said, sympathetically. "Just don't worry about it, or get mad, or..or anything, Ok?"

Brian nodded before heading back towards the stairs. "I have homework." He said flatly.

His mother stood behind in the kitchen, watching her moody teenage son walk away from her. Often she wondered how different things would be had they just opted to let the lab create him for them…

Although, She could never say she regretted it completely. 

Upstairs in his room, Brian sat down at his computer. Logging in, He quickly checked the news for any important developments on the treatment of mutants. 

It was kind of a strange habit he'd picked up, starting back to a old English teacher who had commented that one of these days all the mutants were going to be locked away. Of course that was before she knew about his…condition.

Scanning through the mainstream news sites took only a few seconds, no major news really had happened for a while.

While in the middle of reading an article on the cause of mutation- hoping to find a way to avoid it- an instant message popped up.

It was a friend he had met a few weeks ago in a chat. Her name was Julie; a mutant. He was always asking questions on how she became a mutant – in hopes he could avoid it.

He wasn't really in the mood to chat with the upbeat mutant at the moment so he quickly told her goodbye and signed off.

After a moment of consideration, he closed the Internet browser and stood up. His room was a mess; littered with clothes, books, and other things. Brian casually cleared off a bit with his foot and walked over to his bed. Throwing himself into it, he grabbed his Biology textbook and lazily flipped through the pages.

It didn't take long for him to fall asleep.

__

He dreamt of watching himself floating in what appeared to be an ocean. Then he was in a train, one that was speeding out of control. Frantically he looked around and saw a short girl with a spiky haircut he assumed was Julie. Then the train stopped instantly with a jolt, throwing him and Julie from it. They tumbled onto a hill, well, more of a field. The field was covered in dead, parched grass that had long ago turned brown and crunchy. Then they were running, faster than he though able, until him and the girl grabbed each other's hand and leapt over a cliff that came from nowhere…

With a start, Brian woke up. He looked up to the clock on hi wall. He hadn't even been asleep for five minutes.


	2. The Bill

Robert Tandon casually drove into his drive a few minutes before six that night. Stepping out of his fairly new black BMW, He quickly withdrew his briefcase from the back seat and locked the car. He paused momentarily to gaze upon his reflection in the car windows. Robert flashed a quick, cheesy smile at himself before heading off. 

In his opinion, he was doing pretty well for his age; nice car, nice house, great job, and a half-decent family on top of it. 

With a spring in his step, Robert approached the front door of his home. As he mumbled with the keys that he had moments ago jammed into the pocket of his suit, His wife opened the door. He smiled and leaned down for a kiss. His wife gave a quick smile and kissed back, then pulled away.

Robert looked down on her, confused. "Anything wrong?" He asked.

His wife gave a faraway look, "Brian's school had another test today." She admitted.

Annoyed, Robert shrugged. 'So? They have tests all the time." He stated.

Unfortunately, his wife persisted. "But why? He's the only invalid and everyone knows it." She said bitterly. 

Rolling his eyes, Robert pushed past her to put down his briefcase and hang up his coat. Loosening his tie, he changed the subject. "So what's for dinner?"

His wife chose to ignore his question. Instead she came up behind him and seductively began to massage his shoulders. "Isn't there something you could do about it?" She asked.

Robert was silent.

His wife jolted back. "Fine then," she snapped. She turned and walked into the kitchen. She grabbed a few small packets from the refrigerator and slipped them into the microwave. Then she called for Brian to come down for dinner.

A few minutes later the three of them were eating in silence.

The silent, stressed atmosphere was quite common in their home. Robert was always busy with his work, as was Marsha – not to mention the fact Robert had lately been growing more and more uneasy with Brian's condition the older his son got. 

After a few more minutes of silence, Marsha finally stood up and turned on the TV. "Much better," she commented, sitting back down with the remote.

Marsha continued to flick through channels until she found one of the big, worldwide news stations. 

"My God," She murmured, reading the headline. Both Brain and Robert turned towards the TV.

****

'Official Government Control of Mutants Proposed' the headline read. 

"Turn it up!" Robert urged with a slight hiss.

Marsha quickly obeyed, in time to catch most of the report.

"—The President is among the leading supporters of the newly proposed bill. Now, as we said earlier, Congress and the Senate have both been working very hard to keep knowledge of this under wraps. A statement of this kind is a very interesting political move-" Robert reached over and changed the channel to a different news station.

"Still wildfires continue to rage over a remote location in northern Alberta this evening. Officials are still not releasing reports on how and who-or what – is starting these fires. In more important news this evening, a shocking news leak has come from D.C., the knowledge of a secretive, unknown bill soon to be brought up in Congress. Here we go to Justin Anderson in D.C. to tell us all about this shocking development. Justin?"

The screen split in two to show images of both the anchor and the reporter. The reporter spoke up. 

"Yes, as some of you out there may already know, this afternoon we received a document from an individual who wishes to remain anonymous. There was a note attached, saying only 'What do you think of your perfect world now, Charles?'. Authorities are looking for anyone who knows anything in relation to this case."

"Now, what exactly is this bill about, Justin?" The anchor pressed.

The reporter, Justin, paused. "Ah, yes. Well it appears to be led on by a few high-end businessmen and legislators, not to mention highly endorsed and supported by our President. The bill declares the need for a system of keep control over the mutant population – possibly even over this next generation of Invalids as well. Details are difficult to attain at the moment; but we were able to learn that the voting for this bill will take place in approximately three weeks-- nearing the four-year anniversary of the worldwide attack that is believed to have been caused by a terrorist cell of mutants."

Stunned the three of them stared at the screen, even after the news changed to some other topic. Marsha was the first to snap out of it and promptly turned of the TV. "Don't worry about it, sweetie," She said to Brian, carefully watching him.

Brian shrugged at shifted in his chair. His mother always over-reacted to these kinds of things, making sure he didn't feel any emotion towards it whatsoever. He had long ago come to the conclusion that she was really trying to comfort him for his benefit- but more for hers. She held on to some strange belief that if she could keep everything neutral and maintain the status quo, her son would remain normal and perfect forever. And while Brian couldn't really object to that, he didn't think it did a damn thing either. 

His father loudly cleared his throat. "Your mother's right, that's nothing to be concerned about."

And they ate the rest of the meal in silence.

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On the other side of the country, in upstate New York, a group of teenagers and several adults were all grouped around a TV, watching the same report. In the very center of the group, was a completely bald man in a wheelchair. He was dressed nicely, he looked as if he had just come from a corporate meeting of sorts.

One of the younger students, a red head girl named Theresa, gently tapped on his shoulder. "Professor?"

The bald man looked over at her and gave a sad smile, "Yes, Siryn?"

"Will we have to leave?" She asked, sounding much younger than she really was.

The professor shook his head, no, slowly. "I don't believe so, but I have a few phone calls to go make." He calmly said before wheeling out. The rest of the group stayed behind, engrossed in the report that they believed to be sealing their fates.


	3. The Deal and Biology

In a private club outside of D.C., two men in their mid-thirties met in a small booth. They were clad nearly identically in expensive business suits and mirrored sunglasses. They each nodded a hello to the other before sitting down.

"I trust your making progress?" The first said.

The second nodded. "Everything is going as planned."

"Good."

The second man hesitated a moment before speaking again. "It may even go beyond what we had planed."

This did not rest well with the first. He lowered his sunglasses down slightly, just enough to peer over the edge. "Oh?" He asked, his voice icy.

Growing nervous, the second man began to fidget. "Yes, well, The idea went over excellently. It surely will pass." 

"What did you mean, 'go beyond'?" The first man asked frigidly, bringing the conversation back to the former topic. 

"It's nothing. If it becomes something, I shall notify you." The second man said, getting up to leave.

After he was gone, the first remained. His business here was not yet finished. 

He ordered a cocktail and waited for another half hour, slowly sipping on his beverage and checking out the occasional scantily dressed college girl whose type so often littered the club.

Then, non-discreetly, one of them confidently walked over to his table. With a large smile, she sat down.

"Hi," she said, with a toss of her long, dark hair. "You busy tonight?" Her voice had a slight Middle Eastern accent to it.

The man grinned back. "Nope," He replied.

The girl entwined her long fingers on the tabletop, clicking her nails against the fake marble top.

"How much do you charge?" The man asked.

"Sixty, US." Then a high-pitched laugh followed.

The man nodded. "Shall we head out then?" He asked standing up. The girl stood up also, and together they walked out.

From the shadows of the club, the second man watched his partner and shook his head. He had had suspicions of his partner making arrangements behind his back; but now it was pretty clear all his partner was doing was 'having a bit of fun'… He thought about that for a second and with a laugh ordered up another drink from the bar.

Out in the parking lot, The man looked around quickly, before hitting the button to unlock his car. Him and Sadira had to be careful that neither of them was under surveillance. Once in the car, they were both silent until they were speeding down the highway.

"So how's your brother?" He asked, breaking the silence.

Sadira smiled, "Rez is good, busy planning one new thing or another." She said with a laugh.

"Business is good then?" 

She smiled, "Yes, well, one night in Bali, another in Israel, then a quick jump through Germany. Keeps us all busy."

The man nodded. "I got a job for you."

Sadira stopped laughing. "For the team, or just for me?" She asked cautiously.

The man shrugged. "You. The team. Doesn't matter to me as long as it gets done."

"And the usual pay?" She asked.

"Of course."

She smiled. "Do tell then."

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**__**

Two weeks later.

"Brain." An Annoyed sigh. "Brain!"

Brain snapped his head up. Staring at him with hands upon hips was his biology partner, Kelly. She gestured over to the silver pan containing their dissection project with a disgusted look on her face. "I am so not touching that thing!" she quietly screeched.

Brian shook his head and reluctantly put down his cell phone. He'd been instant messaging with one of his friends in another class. Kelly was admittedly one of his best friends though – not to mention this was considered a 'huge' assignment.

He walked over to where Kelly was, and looked down at the dead creature the teacher had given them. Inside the pan lay a small octopus, roughly about a foot long it's flesh a cold gray color. 

Kelly wrinkled her nose in disgust at the thing. "I don't see why we have to do this," she muttered under her breath.

Brian rolled his eyes. He gestured for her to come a bit closer. Cautiously, Kelly obeyed. 

Sounding serious, Brian began. "Look, the thing has eight legs. Just keep slicing and if you mess up, just use another leg." And with that, he picked the creature up and promptly handed to her before she realized what he was doing. Mortified Kelly held it out as far away as she could in her gloved hands. Grimacing, she dropped it back into the pan, causing splatters of goo to shoot out.

Kelly screeched and Brian reflexively jumped back, cell phone in hand. 

Just then, their teacher returned to class. He momentarily glanced towards the back, trying to see what all the ruckus had been about. Brushing that off as usual teenager antics, he returned his focus to the class in general. "Students," He called.

About half the class turned to look up at him, the rest continued what they were doing.

He cleared his throat. "I…I have an announcement from the office. There has been a terrorist attack in Las Vegas this morning. The Office has requested that we cancel assignments for the day, so students can deal with what happened. You are all therefore excused from today's lab. Please bring your materials to the front _cleaned; _and I shall turn on the television." With that the teacher turned and began fiddling with the controls of the classroom TV.

Brian cleaned out the pan and rinsed the scalpel while Kelly picked small, gooey bits of octopus out of her long red hair. 

"You should've worn a shower cap," He said with a grin. She rolled her eyes and gave him a playful shove before returning to her seat. 

After returning the items to the front, Brian joined her at the table they shared. Once she saw he had sat down, Kelly reached over and carefully picked a good-sized chunk of their project from his dirty blonde hair. She then held it out in front of his face, pinched tentatively between two fingers. "Maybe _someone_ here should have worn a shower cap," She said with a giggle. 

Brian was amused, but didn't laugh, he simply pushed her hand away this time. "Shhhh," He hissed, trying to quiet her for their teacher had finally figured out how to change the TV to a news channel.

****

'BREAKING NEWS!' Flashed across the screen in a bold, red font. Then the screen cut to a news anchor.

"We are live on the phone with one of the witnesses from the scene. Can you tell us what happened?" The female anchor demanded. A small telephone icon popped up and the voice the station identified as one Gerald Bolar, a lawyer and eyewitness on the scene in Las Vegas. 

A deep rattling cough came loudly from the line. 

"Sir?" The anchor questioned.

"Ah'm here," A deep voice thick with a southern accent replied. "I, I saw the whole thang. Some jet, I dunno what size – just some big hummer by Boeing was landin' in the airport. Mah wife and me could see it from our hotel room. We was standin' out on the balcony plannin' out the rest of our little vacation, when suddenly the thang just dang blew apart. Like a mailbox after a few of them hooligans have tinkered with it." Gerald paused. Then sighed. "Lord, it was horrible. Chunks of it went flyin' all which way, as if _possessed_! And the screams…" He trailed off. 

The anchorwoman sadly shook her head. "What do you have to say to the rumors that this was caused by mutants?"

There was a pause on the line. "Ah'm sorry missy, but I've got to go," Gerald Bolar said, and quickly hung up.

Looking startled, the anchorwoman hesitated. Obviously there was nothing on the cue cards for being hung up on. "Well, then," She said, stalling. "Incase your just now joining us, at about 11:13 this morning, a Boeing 767 unexpectedly exploded nearly directly over the Las Vegas Strip. At this point, the casualty count is still unconfirmed, but we have rough estimates of a minimum two-hundred sixty dead, with an unknown number of injuries." The anchorwoman paused, bringing her finger up to her earpiece, listening in. Snapping out of it, she quickly returned her attention to the camera. "This just in…FBI investigators are saying these attacks were carried out by a rogue terrorist cell – one composed mainly of mutants. We expect a message from the president shortly…"

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**__**

Elsewhere…

Cocky, Sadira Rashmeed strode into her employer's office. She was fashionably clad in bright, abstract colors, and skin tight pants. She wore the usual over-sized style of sunglasses; her long mocha colored hair styled glamorously.

She walked with a model's grace over to his desk, leaning far over. "Was that big enough?" She asked coyly.

The man gave a halfhearted spin of his chair, with a thoughtful look. "That was…wonderful." He said, standing up and moving over to the nearest wall. "Sadi," He began, pausing to remove a large, 19th century-style painting off the wall, revealing a silver safe. He fumbled with a combination momentarily, then opened it up to withdraw a nice, Italian leather briefcase. "You and your brother will never cease to amaze." He declared, handing over the briefcase.

With a smile she took it. 

Appearing lost in thought, the man sat back down behind his desk. Sadira turned to leave. "Wait," He called, gesturing for her to come back.

She obeyed, looking curious. But when he looked closer, there was an edge – quite unusual; anxiousness in Sadi…

"Do you, do you remember that night we met?" He asked slowly, reminiscing.

Sadira's jaw dropped a half-inch. "The, night we met?" She questioned.

He nodded.

"Is that really important?" 

"Answer me, dear." He said standing up.

Looking unsure, then the next second decisive, He watched, as the skin on her cheek seemed to ripple.

She never saw the bullet that killed her.

He walked out from behind the desk, wiping the glove's handle off with his shirt's hemline. He crouched next to her body and carefully positioned the gun in her hands.

"Imposter," He spat. Standing up and quietly leaving.

__

Hours later, The man's office was a crime scene. He'd been interviewed several times, each time he gave the same heartfelt story. His old friend, a younger sister of a college mate had burst into his office threatening suicide. He'd tried to stop her, but she wouldn't listen. No, instead she rambled on about them damn mutants, until she finally pulled the trigger on herself…

That night, the man walked cheerfully away from his office building. He was making advances.


	4. The Speech

A/N: Thanks y'all so much for all your fantastic reviews! Sorry it took me a while to update, I'm right in the middle of finals week. Quick note; most of 'McKenna's' speech was taken and/or edited from a speech of President Bush's pertaining to 9/11… Once again, thanks for the great reviews, please keep on reviewing!!!

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"You sure it's ok?" Kelly asked cautiously, following Brian up the walk to his house. He waved his hand, as if brushing the idea away. 

The two were back at Brian's house now, the school and let everyone out early to 'deal'. He had brought Kelly home with him in because she had commented on how she really didn't feel safe at home alone. Of course he had been obliged to offer to let her come over to his house…Not that he minded at all.

"No one will be home anyway," He muttered, fumbling with the keys. A few moments later the two teens were walking into the dark, empty house.

Brian walked on ahead of Kelly, throwing his books and bag down as he walked; leaving behind a trail. Kelly looked around the large house as she carefully set down her backpack and slowly removed her jacket.

"Kelly!" Brian called from another room. "You gotta see this…" He added, trailing off. 

Lost, Kelly wandered down the hallway, her fingers grazing the sky blue paint of the walls. Suddenly the hall ended and she was in what seemed to be a living room; spacious, with an adjunct dining room and kitchen off to the side and another hall leading who knows where.

Brian was standing directly in front of the TV- remote in hand, with his back to her.

"What is it?" She asked curiously. "Nice house by the way," She added as an afterthought.

Either Brian didn't care or wasn't listening to her, for he made no signs of acknowledgement. Kelly gently tapped him on the shoulder.

Brian slightly jumped, seemingly coming out of his daze. He took a step back and over to the side, revealing what he had been watching.

The scenes on the screen were quite similar to what they had scene all morning; but they were slightly different.

By now, two more attacks had taken place, the first in downtown Los Angeles; And the second into the statue of liberty.

Kelly brought her hands up to her mouth. "Oh god," she breathed, stunned.

Brian gently held on to her shoulders and helped her over to the couch. The two sat down and watched for several more hours, his arm wrapped protectively over her shoulder.

The newscast continued, replaying the scenes over and over. Many times there were declarations of a great mutant conspiracy.

********

Around five o'clock, both of Brian's parents came home. 

Brian and Kelly were still on the couch watching TV; well, at least Brian was- for Kelly had long ago fallen asleep, he head resting on his shoulder. Not that he minded... Since he didn't wish to disturb her, he hadn't even bothered to turn on the lights yet. 

Arguing, and soaking wet from the Seattle rain, his parents unknowingly walked into the house. Brian's jaw dropped in surprise at the unexpected arrival of his parents, but before he could do anything, His mother realized that not only was he home but also he was cuddled up next to a sleeping girl on their couch. Her sense of shock was to be expected.

"Brian!" His mothered scolded in a loud whisper so as not to wake the girl up.

Brian opened his mouth then quickly closed it again, at a loss for words. 

His father then strode in, unaware of the unfolding drama in his living room. He was focusing on the hall mirror; with his back to his family, he was messing with his thinning dark hair again, a near obsession of his.

"Robert!" His with hissed, causing him to turn around.

The look on his face was something Brian would never forget. Never.

Eventually though, his father did snap out of it; and while still speechless, it was quite clear he didn't approve.

Kelly chose this moment to wake up. Still half asleep she let out a little groan and stretched. Brian nudged her. She blinked a few times and then finally fully opened her eyes. She looked first at Brian and smiled, unaware of the 'audience'. He nudged her again, more pointedly in their direction. Confused, she turned and saw the two glaring faces that belonged to his parents.

His father loudly cleared his throat. 

Looking embarrassed, Kelly gave a weak smile. "Hi Mr. and Mrs. Tandon."

* * * * * * * * * 

Kelly had quickly left, most likely not wanting to be a part of the upcoming confrontation.

At the moment though, things were really not looking all that good for Brian. He sat in one of the kitchen chairs; while his father paced around the room, and his mother sat down across from him.

"We trust you to be responsible." Robert declared once again, pausing momentarily from his pacing. 

"I am," Brian protested. "Look, we didn't _do _anything! 

His father rolled his eyes.

"Honestly!" Brian declared. "The school let us out early because of the attacks, and she didn't want to go home alone; so I invited her over! She practically fell asleep immediately."

Robert looked about ready to say something, but caught his wife's glare and was silent.

"Something like that is _exactly_ what could activate your mutation gene. Do you want that, dear?" His mother said in a tone that one would see a psychologist use. 

Annoyed, Brian sighed…_Again with the mutant threat. _Losing his temper, he stood up and slammed his fist down on the table "I am sick and tired of being treated like a little kid! If I become a mutant, then so what?! I'm already a freaking invalid!" And with that he angrily turned and quickly went to his room, leaving his parents in a shocked state around the kitchen table.

_______________________________________________________________________

President McKenna nervously ran his fingers through his graying hair. This televised speech could rither make or break him. _But, the risk is always worth the reward_, He reminded himself.

His assistant popped up next to the nearest camera. "Okay sir, we're live in three…two…one."

With a smile, he cleared his throat and began.

"Good evening. Today, our fellow citizens, our way of life, our very freedom came under attack in a series of deliberate and deadly terrorist acts.

The victims were in airplanes, or in their offices; secretaries, businessmen and women, military and federal workers; moms and dads, friends and neighbors. Many lives were suddenly ended by evil, despicable acts of terror.

These acts of mass murder were intended to frighten our very race into compliance and fear. But they have failed; we are still strong.

These attacks can shake the foundations of our biggest buildings, but they cannot touch the foundation of _Humanity_. These acts shattered steel, but they cannot dent the steel of _Human _resolve.

Today, our nation saw evil, the very worst of human—no, mutant nature. 

Immediately following the first attack, I implemented our government's emergency response plans. Our military is powerful, and it's prepared. Our emergency teams are working in New York City, Las Vegas, and Los Angeles, to help with local rescue efforts.

Our first priority is to get help to those who have been injured, and to take every precaution to protect our citizens at home and around the world from further attacks. The functions of our government continue without interruption. 

The search is underway for those who are behind these evil acts. I've directed the full resources of our intelligence and law enforcement communities to find those responsible and to bring them to justice. We will make no distinction between the terrorists who committed these acts and those who are _similar_ to them. 

I appreciate so very much the members of Congress who have joined me in strongly condemning these attacks. And on behalf of the American people, I thank the many world leaders who have called to offer their condolences and assistance.

It is with a heavy heart that I give you, the American people – and the world our proposal. We have tried peace among the two dominant species – Humans and the mutants, that is. But our heartfelt attempts at peace have only been met with violence, hatred, and now these horrid acts of terrorism. 

The time has come for change in how we 'handle' the mutant problem. We can't simply have them run rampant, underming society. I propose for the American people to follow in the footsteps of Former President Bush – Any and all acts of terrorism will be dealt with accordingly. Now if this means we have to follow a similar brigade as the former president's 'war on terror' then so be it. We have given them a chance and now is the time of reckoning.

America and our friends and allies join with all those who want peace and security in the world, and we stand together to win the war against terrorism. 

Tonight, I ask for your prayers for all those who grieve, for the children whose worlds have been shattered, for all whose sense of safety and security has been threatened. And I pray they will be comforted by a power greater than any of us, spoken through the ages in Psalm 23: "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me." This is a day when all Americans from every walk of life unite in our resolve for justice and peace. America has stood down enemies before, and we will do so this time. None of us will ever forget this day. Yet, we go forward to defend freedom and all that is good and just in our world. 

Thank you. Good night and God bless America.


	5. The Departure

Over the following several months, the more and more Brian's parents – or at least his mother -discouraged so much as a friendship with Kelly. Well, if his mother could have had her way, he wouldn't have any friends.

And so as Brian struggled with crossing the line with Kelly between friend and _girlfriend_; his mother took him to a psychologist. Yes, a psychologist.

Dr. Albert "Al" Mendengle was a thirty-some child psychologist. Apparently, He was a quite good friend of his mother.

_________________________________________________________

__

"Excuse me?" Dr. Mendengle questioned, not quite believing what his client was asking for.

"Oh, you must have some sort of anti-emotion drug." Marsha Tandon inquired; her voice in a low seductive tone.

"I'm sorry, but I don't…." Mendengle replied, his voice trailing off. 

A heavy sigh was heard; the pouting type Brian had heard used so many times on his father.

He was in the waiting room, His head pressed against the wall. She has stayed a few minutes afterward to 'give the nice doctor some information'. Brain snorted at that thought. He had figured his parents marriage was bad, but not nearly _this _bad…

__

Another sigh was heard from the room, this one louder.

Disgusted, Brian got up and left.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ __ _ _ _ _ 

Mendengle's Office was a few blocks out of the downtown area, and about an equal distance from the mall.

He chose the mall.

Lost in thought, he slowly wandered down the street alone, only vaguely aware of the occasional glance given by passers-by.

Before long, he reached the mall. He entered through one of the less crowded side doors. Aimlessly strolling around, he caught sight of Kelly.

She was with a small group of her friends, standing outside of a trendy boutique. They were all giggling about something.

Confidently, He strode forward towards her. She had her back to him, but one of her friends noticed him. Her friend pointed and looking confused, Kelly turned around. She smiled when she saw him, a smile that he gladly returned.

Once he was close enough, he said a casual 'hey' t Kelly and a nod towards her friends. 

He saw two of her friends' immediately whisper. Brian didn't care though, and he silently prayed that Kelly didn't either. Brian was used to the whispers; the occasion wary looks. 

Before long, the conversation turned into a long, uncomfortable silence. Members of the group began leaving one by one. Kelly spoke up, excusing both of them.

The two began walking in the opposite direction of where her friends had stood. Turning around, Brian could see a few of them were still there, and still whispering. 

He narrowed his eyes before returning his focus to Kelly.

She seemed distant, distracted. The following silence was almost too much for him.

"Did I do something wrong?" He finally asked.

Kelly stopped walking and looked up at him, taking his hands in hers. 'What?" She managed to ask.

With his shoulder, Brian gestured back in the direction they had come. Kelly understood what he meant. "Oh, no…no, it wasn't anything you did…." She said quietly, her voice trailing off.

Getting annoyed, Brian guessed it. "Is it over you-know-what?" He asked, referring to his pending mutation. Or just lack of perfection – depending on how you looked at it.

Kelly bit her lip. "It doesn't matter." She said, shrugging. With that she dropped his hands and began walking again. Brian fell back into step besides her.

"Are you sure that it doesn't matter?" He persisted. '_Because you're acting like it does,' _Brian added in thought.

Kelly sighed, but said nothing.

They walked together for a few minutes, both refraining from speech. "Look," Kelly began. "I…I have to go." She stated quickly before turning and leaving.

Brian stared at her departing form, confused. 

She had always been his friend, one of the few people that didn't make a big deal over his genes. And she had remained a solid friend over the last few moths when things had been 'heating up'. But now, now she was a mystery. He was without best friend and girlfriend, and he prayed it was only temporary.

Drifting back to reality, he checked his watch for the time.

"Crap," He muttered, before taking off running.

___________________________________________________________________

Twenty minutes later, a sweating and shortly breathed Brian came bounding up the sidewalk in front of his house. As he had feared, both of his parents were home. He had hoped to beat his mother home, to not have to deal with ditching her at the doctors. Too late for that though.

Quietly, he opened the whitewashed door, and slip inside. He could hear his parent's voices drifting out of the kitchen. They seemed angry over something; but then of course, there was always some new crisis between home and work and back again.

Slowly, with precision, Brian carefully chose his steps towards the stairs. The house's old style wood flooring was known to creak and groan with one misstep. He had learned this the hard way many times prior. As he walked, he passed the long hallway mirror, catching sight of his reflecting. He was drenched in sweat, his cheeks were bright red in color. His hair spiked up every-which-way. A thought drifted through his head. Any of his classmates, no matter how un-athletic they were- would be in better shape than he was. '_It's all in the genes,'_ He reminded himself once again.

He managed to get to the stairs and up the first few in perfect silence. Then it happened. Distracted, he stepped down a bit too hard and a high pitched creak loudly resulted. Cringing, Brian paused, trying to tell if his parents had heard. 

Either they did and didn't care, or they were too involved in their conversation to notice.

After a few moments, Brian let out the deep breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He then proceeded to make his way back up the stairs.

Feeling quite accomplished, he entered his room and plopped into his computer chair, giving it a slight spin. Automatically, he logged in to check his email. Looking through the list of junk mails, he noticed an address he hadn't seen in a while. Julie, the mutant girl from New York—whom he had met online – had sent a message. He hadn't heard from her in moths; her last message saying 'everything was hectic', had led him to believe she didn't get online much anywhere.

He opened the message, finding that it had been sent out to apparently everyone on her contact list, and was only a jumble of letters. It was as if someone had just smacked the keyboard and sent it. 

It was odd, but Brian just brushed it off. He'd smacked his keyboard _plenty _of times. 

At dinner that night no one spoke of the Doctor or of Brian's leaving. He assumed his mother didn't want to take any chances. Or perhaps he was just paranoid, and the interaction had been perfectly harmless. Although, he seriously doubted the latter.

___________________________________________________________________________

The following day, Brian invited Kelly over to study. She gladly said yes- but then of course, no one was around except for them. 

The walk to his house was all small talk, gossip you could call it. The exchanging what they each knew on the topic of who was going with whom to the upcoming dance.

They laid out their textbooks and papers all over the table; in the same manner of his parents.

The two spent the next several hours studying. First History, a quick Biology review, and they were just starting English when his parents got home.

They both separately acknowledged the 'nice, innocent' interaction between their son and his 'nice little friend'. 

His mother began working on dinner, cordially inviting Kelly to stay – to which she accepted. His father began laying out papers on the leftover space of kitchen counter.

"Ok, what's iambic pentameter?" Brian quizzed Kelly. In a few days they were having a literature test on Shakespeare, so they both wanted to be prepared.

Kelly took a moment guessing. Finally though, she gave up. "Let me see," She said, gesturing to the study guide Brian held.

With a smile, Brian handed it over to her. Except, instead of the study guide, he held a colorfully piece of paper with seven words scrawled on it, along with a hastily drawn heart on the side.

It read: **DANCE? FRIDAY… TWO WEEKS…. U AND ME?**

Kelly's Jaw dropped. "Oh…Oh…Ohmigosh, Yes!" She was finally able to screech. Brian shushed her, gesturing for her to be quiet and then gestured towards the kitchen.

Kelly nodded, grinning. She gave Brian a tight hug. Brian smiled.

A loud knock came at the door. Kelly immediately withdrew from Brian as they heard Robert coming out to answer the door.

Brian leaned over to the side and caught a glimpse out the window.

What he saw nearly made his heart stop. Through the rain, Police Vehicles visibly surrounded the front of their house. Their house.

Getting a vague idea what was going on, He breathed and "Oh no."

Kelly cocked her head. "What?" She questioned.

He brought his finger up to his lips, signaling for quiet.

He heard his father open the door.

"Sir, are you Robert G Tandon?" He heard a distinctly deep male voice asked.

Slowly, his father replied yes, and asked if there was anything he could help them with.

"We're looking for your son, Brian." Deep voice explained.

Robert was obviously thrown off. "My…son? Why?" He questioned.

A rustling of papers was heard.

"This can not be legal." Robert declared, outraged.

"I'm sorry sir. We have direct orders to put your son in custody. We can assure you that this is very temporary."

Marsha, noticing her husband's absence emerged from the kitchen and headed towards the door. "Honey, is everything all right?" She asked, coming to stand next to her husband.

"Ma'am, everything is fine. We have a warrant out to put your son in temporary custody.

"What?" She exclaimed.

Robert tried to calm her. "Shhh, honey it's all right. They just want to take Brian in for a few days." He said in a hushed voice.

"No! Why? They can't do that!" She protested.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but we'll use force if we have to." Deep voice stated.

Brian turned back to Kelly, who was also hearing all this.

She wore a frightened look upon her face. "Brian," She whispered.

He grabbed her hands. "I…I love you." He stuttered, giving her a quick kiss that was a mere fraction of his many fantasies but still one he would never forget. 

He stood up. He could see the tears welling in her eyes. "I'll be back." He told her. He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince her or really just himself.

He mouthed another quick 'I love you', before his parents and a policeman—to whom he assumed the deep voice belonged too-- came up behind him. 

"Brian," His mother started. 

"I heard." He stated. She enveloped him in a hug, beginning to cry. When she finally let go, he moved to his father. His father gave him a gruff hug. "You'll be back before you know it," He said.

Brian nodded.

The policeman cuffed him, and led his outside. 

Once outside, Brian could see police vehicles did not only surround their yard, but the lawn itself was dotted with snipers and other members of the police force. All had guns and were trained to shoot.

"C'mon boys, this one's harmless." The policeman holding him said loudly.

Brian was gruffly pushed into the nearest car. Turning to gaze back on his home, he could see his parent's silhouettes illuminated in the doorway. His father had his arm wrapped around his wife's shoulders. His mother was leaning on him, probably crying.

Brian saw Kelly push her way out from behind them. As the car began to move away, she ran after it. Her long red hair flying out behind her and her sandals loudly clacking on the pavement, he gave here a feeble wave. He didn't know if she noticed.

She did stop though, knowing it was a lost cause. She stood pitifully in the heavy rain, her long hair soaked and out of place, same as her clothes. Her eyeliner had also run, leaving behind what looked like dark black tear-trails.

But not that Brian could see, for by now he was long gone.


	6. The Transport

Brian spent the following two hours in the police car, listening to cheesy country music played over a very muffled speaker. He let his head loll back over the headrest, bored to death – considering he'd just been arrested. 

The car eventually pulled over, and the officer in the driver's seat got out. Soon he returned, only poking his head in. He gestured for the officer riding in the passengers' seat to get out. 

The two talked quietly for a few minutes outside the car before returning. They had apparently decided to switch seats.

The driving started up again.

"Excuse me," Brian started. The officer turned and through the bars gave him a questioning look.

"I know I have the 'right to remain silent' and all, but how much further?" Brian desperately asked.

The officer smirked. "Well, first off, you ain't got no rights, so feel free to talk away. And to answer your question, it ain't that much further with us, just to the next state-line. But you'll still have a long way to go, ain't that right Bob?" He asked, poking the driving officer.

'Bob' shrugged. The original officer spoke up again. "Pay no attention to Bob here," He said, gesturing to his partner. "He don't like you mutants much. You shoulda seen him when he heard the announcement; happy as a clam, he was."

Against his better judgement, Brian pressed further. "Announcement?"

The officer stared at him for a moment. "You don't know kid?"

Feeling lost, Brian just shook his head no.

The officer whistled. "Woo, talk about a mind trip." He said with a slight laugh. "I guess everythin' will make a load of more sense when you hear all them details and such."

Bob elbowed his partner at this point. "It doesn't need to now." He gruffly said before reaching for the dial on the radio to turn up the volume.

The partner gave one last look back at brain before turning around and taking a sip of his coffee. 

The rest of the ride was silent.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

By the time they reached the state-line, Brian guessed it had to be close to one or so in the morning. A few miles prior, the car had gone off the highway onto a small, lumpy dirt road that was ridden with potholes.

The terrain had gone from wet and forested in the city to dry and desert-like. The occasional over-sized rock formation or bush dotted the landscape around the dirt path.

Brian squinted off into the distance. He thought he'd caught sight of something in the distance. The car went over another little hill, and it became clear. 

Orange lights gleamed in the distance, giving an eerie, false sense of daylight. In the middle of the lit scene, he saw many other cars and what he thought might be a long building. Getting closer though, he realized it was in fact an airplane. The drab green ones the military used for transporting cargo. 

Pulling up amongst the other vehicles, the car he was in stopped. The driver picked up a small radio off the dashboard. 

"This is A14 and A15 reporting. Over." Bob looked back at Brian. "We have IV-40225-6. Over" He added.

"Good. Send him in. Over." A static voice responded.

The two officers got out of the car first, the roughly escorted Brian out. 

They gruffly led him over to a small, shack-like building. Other officers and several military personnel were milling about. The few that actually looked at him gave Brian hard looks.

Once at the shack, one of the officers knocked on the door. A balding, overweight man clad in a dirty lab coat opened the door. "IV-40225-6?" He questioned, and the officers nodded.

"Ah, good. We're just getting ready to take off." The balding man said, turning around and grabbing something off the cluttered desk directly behind him. It was one of the testers, similar to the ones used at Brian's school. The officer on his right – he wasn't quite sure which one it was– grabbed his right arm and held his finger into the machine. The machine, with quick accuracy, took a quick prick of his finger. It took a few seconds to analyze the blood, but sure as ever, Brian's picture popped up on the small screen, along with a few other details. 

The balding man grinned, "He's good to go," He said, already turning around to replace the handheld unit.

"C'mon," one of the officers said. In unison, the two officers moved towards the plane. Brian could see there was a lot of activity going on around the base of the cargo hold. _'Oh shit,'_ He silently cursed when at that point he fully realized what was going to happen. 

"Please," He whispered to the officers, growing desperate. "Help me. My parents have money, and…and, I'm not even a mutant yet." He begged.

He caught a mournful look from the officer he had talked with earlier; but the other just kept walking, his face cold.

When they reached the entrance to the marked off area surrounding the plane, they were met by a young uniformed man. He wore desert camouflage from head to toe. He stared down at Brian, looking a bit shocked. Brian on the other hand was practically coughing up a lung from all the dust that was being kicked up. The look the young soldier gave was one of complete disbelief – clearly doubting the danger level of the boy. 

The soldier cleared his throat. He held a clipboard in hand and took down Brian's number. "Ok, I'll take it from here, gentlemen." He stated to the officers. Bob was quick to leave but the second stayed behind a second later. In Brian's ear, he whispered, "My advice: accept your fate kid." And with that he walked away. 

The soldier looked down on him once more. He held on tightly to Brian's upper arm. He yelled orders Brian didn't understand. Two more nearly identical soldiers came over. They escorted Brian up the cargo plane's ramp, into the belly of it.

The plane had obviously been converted for this specific purpose. Instead of an empty hull, Brian saw there was a series of what he assumed to be cells. Most of the cells had solid, metallic walls around them, but here and there, a block of cells made only of thick circular bars could be seen. He noticed all these cages were empty.

Brian was put in one of the solid cages. Well, not exactly put, it was more like thrown into. The thick door slammed shut behind him, and he heard multiple locking mechanisms. The room was approximately five by five-feet, with a stainless steel chair bolted down against one of the walls. 

Awkwardly, Brian sat laid down on the metal floor. It was then that he realized he was still handcuffed. But it soon didn't matter as sleep overtook him.


	7. The Interlude with McIntosh

The cold winter day had long since been forgotten amidst the Senate Hearing room in Washington DC. The current speaker at the podium was a young, controversial new senator who was just barely into his first term. With his first term he had spawned up a whirlwind of new proposals- the most controversial the new Mutant Registration Act. McIntosh had taken Senator Kelly's old Act and simply added 'a few revisions'.   
  
"Heaven only knows what Xavier's mutants are capable of." Senator McIntosh Declared. "Several years ago they were held in connection to the Liberty Island terrorism incident. But were they prosecuted, or even charged? No! Also, nearly four years ago today the group was not only identified as a mutant training ground, but once they were discovered, they unleashed the worldwide attack. Once again though, no one has laid a finger on Xavier or any of the others he has been training." The senator paused, picking up a folder from the podium's shelf.  
  
"Charles Xavier not only frequently visited the cell of one Erik Magnus Lehnsherr; or more commonly known as Magneto. Lehnsherr and Xavier go far back, they even built said training facility together. From the files of the late Col. Stryker, we have determined that underground the school Xavier has a device - one built by Lehnsherr-that allows him to harness his mutation to the point where he could project it to anywhere in the world. Incase any of you are not yet familiar with Xavier's mutation, let me enlighten you - It's mind control. His telepathic abilities range from that of the simplest form of communication through thoughts, to that of altering one's God given free will. A few sources have even said Xavier is capable of killing a person by just thinking about them for too long." At this point his fellow senators gave a collective gasp.  
  
McIntosh continued, "Now, we have linked Xavier to the attacks that killed thousands. And I ask you, Should this man be allowed to go free?" McIntosh held his position at the podium for a moment longer. Then with a nod he thanked them all, and stepped down. He made sure to take the folder with him as he strode away.  
  
Once outside the main hall of the Senate building, he took in a deep breath, ad ran his fingers through his short, dark brown hair. Peter McIntosh was one of the youngest senators this country had seen in a while. He leaned up against the wall behind him, careful not to wrinkle his suit. He withdrew is signature mirrored sunglasses from his jacket pocket and waited. His flunky assistant was supposed to come by sooner rather than later. It was considerably later when his assistant, George Cattermole, came bumbling in. He looked around nervously for his employer. Behind his sunglasses, McIntosh rolled his eyes. Cattermole then spotted him.  
  
"Sir," He said loudly, waving his arms. McIntosh sighed, moving from his position and reluctantly walking over. "Your late," He declared once he was close enough.  
  
Cattermole blushed slightly. "Well, sir, things are progressing very quickly."  
  
"You think I don't know that?" McIntosh asked condescendingly as he began to walk away with large, confident strides.  
  
Cattermole scurried to catch up. "Of course you do, sir." He stuttered. To this, McIntosh was silent. So Cattermole continued. "Base One is coming along just fine sir. As of 0700 this morning they had a reported mutant count of nearly three thousand."  
  
McIntosh nodded, seeming pleased.  
  
"The InValid count is still only in the hundreds though sir." Cattermole stated quickly.  
  
McIntosh shrugged. "We've only just begun, George."  
  
George Cattermole was silent.  
  
McIntosh continued. "The vote is in a mere few days. The time is right, especially with these new acts of mutant terrorism. The president and the majority will have to side with us. Then we shall allow McKenna to show the world how to deal with the mutant problem. " He smiled. "Senator Kelly would be proud."  
  
Cattermole timidly nodded. He had met Robert Kelly only once, about two years ago. He had soon after been presumed dead in an arsonist's fire that was turned the senator's office building to ash.  
  
"Yes George, Robert Kelly would have been proud." McIntosh declared as the two stopped walking. They had reached the two large, glass doors of the entrance. Gray skies and large water drops were quite visible from where they stood.  
  
"My umbrella, George." McIntosh demanded. Cattermole fumbled with opening his thick briefcase that was more like a small suitcase and with drew the typical black umbrella. He handed this to McIntosh, who nodded thanks. He began to open the umbrella, and was ready to step outside when George stopped him. "How did the speech go sir?" He asked quickly.  
  
McIntosh smiled. "You'll find out soon enough, won't you George." He said before walking outside.  
  
Cattermole watched the form of his employer depart; a man dressed in a high class black suit, dark sunglasses and umbrella. This man continued to walk away- a sharp contrast to his gray surroundings. And he never looked back.  
  
___________________________________________  
  
A/N: Sorry about the length, I just didn't want to jump back into the world of Brian yet ;) But so, here I get to thank my awesome reviewers! You all rock!  
  
Kasey22-- Aww, thanks!  
  
Pendragon4-Glad you like it! It's about time you get your fics back up, eh? *hint hint* Just kidding. Sorry about the spelling errors, I have no beta- reader, and by the time I finally think I'm finished with a chapter I'm either so sick of it or so tired I just don't bother. Anyway thanks for the reviews, ohmigosh, you are the best! (Well, not the best, but pretty close!)  
  
Lunar Shadowsong - Thanks for all your reviews!  
  
Guin-Thanks!  
  
OrlandoRoKsMYworld-Whoa, my biology class just watched it too! O.O hehe, Anyway, thanks a gazillion for your review! (by the way, about Brian's mutation, it may be surprising.then again maybe not.;) )  
  
MusiqBoy-I'll try!  
  
_______________________________________________ 


	8. The Iceman

Brian awoke to the feeling of being sharply kicked in the ribs. 

When he opened his eyes he found himself face to face with a rather large black combat boot. The sure woke him up. Trying to scramble into a sitting position, he got knocked down by the boot. 

The owner of said boot turned and gave a yell out the cell door. A short, Hispanic man gave quickly in. "Si?" He asked.

The boot's owner, whom Brian was beginning to assume was a woman, pointed a gloved finger towards him. 

The little man apparently understood her. 

He promptly walked in and knelt down behind Brian's head. He forced Brian up into a sitting position. First he tied a blindfold over Brian's eyes. Then he got to work removing and replacing the handcuffs. A few moments later, he stood up and left. 

"On your feet, freak," The Boot Woman commanded with another kick. 

Grimacing, Brian learned the difficulty of sitting up when one's hands are tied behind one's back and also blindfolded. But he did manage to eventually stand up, and was then grabbed and led out by the Boot woman. 

When they reached the exit, they were met with a wall of hot air. Brian coughed, having not expected the heat. Back up in Seattle, it was cold and rainy this time of year. Well, not that it wasn't also like that the rest of the year, but for heaven's sakes it was February! It should be cold! But at least it was a small clue about his location: really hot and there was a Hispanic guy… . . . Ok, he had nothing.

The woman behind him continued to march forward, barking orders at any unfortunate bystander. 

Finally, she stopped. She still gripped the back of Brian's arms, but she seemed distracted by something. 

Suddenly, there was a sharp creak and Brian sensed something moved. Then they were able to continue onward. 

The woman pushed him through what he assumed was a door, for once inside wherever he was, there was a distinct drop in temperature. Definitely caused by air conditioning. 

"Stand still! Try anything scum and I'll be more than happy to leave you out there in the sun to fry." She declared loudly. Brian obeyed. He could feel the cuffs being checked again, and then the blindfold was taken off.

He blinked a few times, his eyes trying to adjust to the sudden light change. Once the brightness level of the room returned to normal, he was able to look around. 

The building was fairly large, or at least this room was. There were several rows of worn looking desks clumped together on the far side of the room. Closer to where Brian was, there was a line of a few metal chairs surrounded by different forms of restraints. One chair had a three-inch thick bar circling it, like an amusement park ride. Another chair had chains draped around it; while another was completely surrounded by bars. Although, there were a few just plain chairs, except these had been moved over enough to show a distinct separation between groups. 

Brian stood in the opposite corner, still held by the Boot Woman. 

A group of young military personnel walked through the door, it clanging shut behind them. 

Boot Woman signaled for them to come over. They obeyed, yet seemed quite reluctant to do so. She commanded them to hold her 'assignment' while she checked it in. 

Doing what they were told, one grabbed Brian from each side, with another supervising this from the front. Brian yawned.

Boot Lady gestured for them all to come over. 

The two holding him simply dragged Brian over. Brian only vaguely noticed the following proceedings. He was tested, as by usual protocol. He was certified as Brian Tandon, and of having entered at the day's date. The person who had performed the test, a secretary of sort, handed the boot lady a slip of paper. 

With that, he was led away, or more dragged away. 

The small procession must have been quite a sight. Led by the Boot lady, followed by the lieutenant and finally followed by Brian, wedged between the two personnel whom were dragging him. 

The dust was getting in his mouth and eyes-- heck, it was getting everywhere!

In the distance, rows of silver pointy things were visible, but Brian couldn't tell what they were. Some large buildings where closer, but he was being led away from those so he was unable to determine their purpose.

They reached a small building. 

Boot woman and two of her new assistants remained outside while one led Brian in. The entire building appeared to be a large series of showers. The floor and walls were covered in sand colored inch-square tile, with borders a shade darker. The water then came down from the ceiling, like an indoor sprinkler. Brian's clothes got soaked, and the bit of dust covering him turned to a diluted form of mud. Brian greedily tried to drink in the water. He had been taken before dinner the night before, and wherever he was, the sun was already getting high in the air.

Deciding the prisoner had had enough, the private gruffly turned off the water and led him back out. Once outside, his clothes dried nearly instantly. His captors led him off again, returning to their former positions. 

This time, they headed towards the pointy things Brian had seen earlier. As they got closer, it was clear what they were. Bunkers.

The bunkers stretched on and on, as far as Brian could see. Granted, that wasn't very far by comparison, but it was far enough. 

He was led into the second block, and after Boot Lady went through the security codes to open the doors. The doors slid open mechanically with a hiss. Inside it was dark; only small beams of sunlight were allowed in here and there.

They led him down the long, main hall that seemed to divide up the cells. On each side of the hall were dark, dirty cells about six-foot square at the most. The cells had mainly solid walls, with two or three foot tall strips of bars, and of course a door. Outside the door there were what appeared to be handprint scanners, most likely operated by the guards.

When one of his guards caught him looking around, Brian decided to keep his head down. 

Finally they reached his cell. Brian was put in a bit more gently this time, and the cuffs were removed. With that, though, the door slammed shut. 

He sat on the cold cement floor, dazed. Slowly he began looking around. He noticed on the sides of his cell, about three feet off the ground there was a one-foot high strip of bars, allowing him to see into the other cells. 

Gathering up his strength, he sat up on his knees. "Hello?" He called timidly. There was no answer. Curious, he looked up through the bars. There was nothing in the cell. Disappointed, he turned to the opposite cell on his left. 

This time he looked before calling.

"Hey!" A voice snapped back. Brian jolted backwards in shock. The voice gave a short laugh. "That's what you get," It said simply.

"Sorry," Brian apologized but got no reply. "If you don't mind me asking, what's going on?" He asked hurriedly.

There was the sound of something moving.

Brian watched a head topped with short, blond hair rise up slowly above the bottom of the bars. It stopped when he was face to face with a pair of ice blue eyes. "You don't know?" the voice said slowly, seeming not to comprehend.

Brian nodded.

The man on the other side of the bars let out a cross between a laugh and a sigh. 

"Boy, have I got a story for you." He began. "First off though, introductions. Are you a mutant or an InVie?" He asked. InVie was a short term for invalid.

"InVie," Brian admitted.

"Ah," The man replied.

"How'd you know I was one of those two?" Brian asked curiously.

The man paused, "Because you wouldn't be in there if you weren't."

To this, Brian was silent.

The man continued, "Anyway, you can call me Ice."

Brian nodded.

"So you don't have any clue why you're here?" Ice asked.

Brian shook his head. "I'm guessing it's because I'm and Invalid or will-be Mutant." He stated.

"Bingo."

And so Ice began to tell of the new law and the raid of the school where he had worked…

__

_______________________________________________________________________________

Bobby, Rogue, Scott, Nightcrawler, and Ororo were all gathered in Xavier's office. Logan would have been there too, if he hadn't already left. A few days prior, he had announced he was leaving. Perhaps it was Logan's animal instincts that told him to leave then. The animal yet again eluding the trap the hunter had set. Or maybe it was just Logan's time to move on. They may never know.

In the meeting with Xavier, they were assured that no one would touch the school, and they would be safe as long as they stayed there. Bobby gripped Rogue's gloved hand at hearing this. Everyone feared an incident similar to what Stryker had done. If only they could have been so lucky…

Early that evening, Ororo and Rogue, who had both taken over the 'lady of the house' role quite nicely sent him to town to pick up a few things. As he left, he saw the students gathered around Xavier's chair. He was reassuring them that nothing was going to happen- that they were safe. The scene brought a smile to bobby's face.

Once in town, he quickly picked up the desired items and was on his way back to the mansion. A cop pulled him over. Shining a flashlight in Bobby's face, the man squinted at him. "Are you," He paused to read something in his other hand. "Robert "Bobby" Drake?" He questioned.

"Yes," Bobby slowly replied.

The man thrust a testing device at him. "Show me," he demanded.

Bobby went through the procedure of the testing, and the machine verified it as positive. There was something on his identification that he had never noticed before. In a bright red, underneath his name there was a bold 'MUTANT' label, with a small star underneath. Below that, there was a long serial code-like number.

The officer read this, and nodded. He turned the device off, "You're under arrest for being a mutant, Mr. Drake." The officer state calmly. 

"What?" Bobby asked in disbelief.

The officer repeated it, slower this time, as if bobby was not only a mutant but also an idiot.

"That's preposterous! I know my rights." Bobby declared, staying in the car.

"You thought you did, mutie. Now, let's make this easy. Out of the car." The officer shot back.

Bobby stared up at the man, then slammed his foot down on the gas. The car- thankfully one that Scott had modified- roared forward.

He heard the cop yell from behind, but booby kept going. He still had a little bit of time left. Panicking, he felt around the passenger seat for his cell phone. He found it, and with a deep breath he called the mansion. 

The phone rang. And rang again. No answer. 

'Pick up, someone pick up…'He silently begged. 

On the fourth ring, someone did. "Bobby? Oh god, please let it be you," Rogue's southern accent laced voice answered.

"Rogue!" Bobby yelled. 

"Bobby! You need to get back here. Soldier's came. " She began to sob. "They were shooting, Bobby."

Bobby froze. "Are you ok?"

Rogue's voice wavered. "Bobby, they're going to find me. I'm hiding under the Professor's desk…"

"Just stay there Rogue! Be as quiet as you can, I'm coming…Did any of the children escape?"

Another muffled sob escaped Rogue. "I…I don't know. They killed Jones, Bobby. He…he was just sitting there watching TV when the back of his head exploded. That's how we knew." Her voice was wavering again towards the end.

"Just stay quiet Rogue. I love you, I'm coming to get you." Bobby said, trying to reassure her.

There was silence from Rogue's end of the line.

"Rogue?" Bobby questioned, worried.

"They're here Bobby, on this floor. I can hear them getting nearer. Oh God, Oh God." She whispered.

Bobby opened his mouth to say something when Rogue suddenly screamed and the line went dead.

If he thought he was panicked before, then Bobby was in a state of near hysterics. He drove like a madman, putting Scott's modifications of the car to the test.

As he neared the school, what he saw was a mini-war ground.

In the lawn around the mansion, were dozens of police cars and several vans. A few military vehicles as well. There were a few students chained together and held by armed soldiers. A helicopter circled above, casting a searchlight in every direction.

As Bobby stared, shocked at what was unfolding before his very eyes, he failed to notice when the searchlight fell on him. It was too late when he finally started the car.

Armed officers quickly surrounded him, all with their guns pointed towards him. The apparent lead officer stepped forward. They read from a sheet of paper the declaration that had been made only hours before. All mutants, InValids, and any other persons at risk of mutation were hereby under civil arrest. They were being relocation until further notice. 

Bobby was then handcuffed and tested once again. Once this was over with, he was injected with something, and promptly fell asleep. When he awoke, he was at the camp, in his cell.

___________________________________________________________________

__

"Wow," Brian said, impressed with Ice's story.

Ice shrugged. Of course, he had left out a few of the real details in what he told he kid, so he wasn't bugged with questions of who all those people were, and such.

"Yeah kid, so why don't you tell me a bit about yourself," Ice said, leaning away from the window. He was obviously tired from telling his story, and wore a semi-haunted look on his face.

Brian began to tell of his last few days, feeling rather inadequate by comparison to Ice's story.


	9. The Doctor

Time passed slowly in the camp. The only means of contact with the outside world were the few open cracks than ran through the ceiling, allowing small streams of light in. The cracks were the only hint of what time of day it was.

Brain lay stretched out on his back in the middle of his cell. The hard cement was still cool from the night, which was just beginning to depart. Had he really only been here for two days? The empty cell was just so…empty.

Sure, he spent some time talking to Ice, but Ice was still having problems with dealing with everything. Every few minutes their conversations would drift back to Ice's school and his girlfriend. Then of course, Brian's conversations tended to drift back to Kelly, as did his thoughts- in fact they were doing that right now. 

He sighed. The faint sound of Ice's snoring could be heard coming from the next cell over.

Brian shifted his position, in an attempt to get more comfortable. A dime-sized hole in the shabby ceiling allowed him a glimpse of the pale pink morning sky.

As Brian lay there, completely zoned out, he nearly failed to hear the high-pitched screeching sound that echoed throughout the camp. Almost. As the noise grew louder, pain in his ears increased. He tried clamping his hands and then arms over his ears to block it out but nothing changed the noise. But then, as suddenly as it had begun, the sound was silenced. 

Cautiously, Brian slowly sat up and peered around. He couldn't tell where the noise had come from – it had seemed to come from everywhere. He wondered what could have made the sound too, for it was unlike anything he had ever heard before…

__

'That's probably a good thing,' He thought, remembering the pain the sound had caused. Still wondering what had just happened, his thoughts were interrupted by Ice.

"Siryn." He heard quietly. Or maybe it wasn't quietly, and he had lost his hearing…

"Huh?" Brian asked a moment later. 

He could hear Ice sitting up. "It was Siryn." He said a bit louder.

"Siryn?" Brian questioned.

Ice sighed. "Yes. Siryn. She's a student at the school." He said slowly, as if Brian were stupid.

"Oh," was all Brian could say. "So that's what she does?"

Unknown to Brian, Ice nodded. Then, realizing the gesture was obviously unnoticed due to the wall between them, he voiced a yes.

The two sat in silence for a while longer before Ice spoke up again. "It was her screams that woke everyone up in the last attack; With Stryker. I told you about him, didn't I?"

"No, well, sort of. You mentioned he was part of the Mutant attack or something…" Brian replied, trailing off.

"Well…" Ice began, but stopped. "I'll tell you later." He abruptly said. Neither said anything for the rest of the morning –the morning that was cut short by the two soldiers that took Brian away a mere minutes later.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

"Hmmm," the Doctor said. Doctor Elanovich, that is. He was quite similar to the man who had examined him before the flight, Brian concluded.

He had been taken to one of the main personnel buildings for some sort of examination. The air-conditioning and all the moving around had been a nice change from the cell.

The short doctor squinted at him with a pair of beady brown eyes that were hidden behind a miniscule pair of reading glasses. He then took his clipboard and noted something down. HE then turned around, and with his back to Brian and his two guards, he began to mutter.

Brian sneaked a quick lance at his guards. The two young military men looked only a few years older than him and looked rather uncomfortable. But then, that was probably brought on by Elanovich's mutterings.

Finally one of the soldiers broke the doctor's thoughts and spoke up. "Are we almost done?" He inquired, his voice tinged with a fait British accent.

Doctor Elanovich slowly turned around and stared at the boy through his tiny reading glasses. "Done?" He mimicked. "Done?" He repeated more to himself this time. The soldier stared back expectantly.

"Oh, your serious?" The Doctor said a moment later, amused.

Impatient the soldier nodded.

The doctor laughed at this. "OH no, my boy. We are certainly, and most definitely not 'done'. But I can see you're a busy man, as is your partner; so why don't you just leave the Invie with me and I shall summon you both when I am finished, eh?"

The soldier hesitated, exchanging a look with his partner, Their indecision yet longing was obvious. Finally, they agreed. 

"We'll just be goin' downstairs for a drink, sir. Be sure to cuff him," The first soldier said, thrusting Brian and several pairs of handcuffs at the doctor. They then promptly left, wanting to leave before the crazy doctor changed his mind.

Brian stood awkwardly in the center of the room. Elanovich stood several feet away, slowly looking him over inch by inch.

After remaining like this for what seemed an eternity, Brian spoke up. "Aren't you going to cuff me?" He slowly asked.

Elanovich seemed to snap back to reality. He made a waving gesture, as if to brush the idea away. "Heavens no." He simply said before turning around and sorting through his desk for something. 

Brian remained standing behind him.

"Sit down boy," The doctor said, not bothering to turn around. Brian looked around the room for a place to sit. The doctors office was a bit, unusual .It was on the upper story of the check-in building, and was styled in an old west way. The building itself was probably twice as long as it was wide and made from sun bleached wooden planks. Elanovich's office was the entire upper floor, the first half was the formal office, with lab tools, stainless steel, the work. The in the second half, there was an invisible line to be crossed. The walls went from stark white to a vibrant shade of red. Wooden furniture lay scattered about, a desk here, a table there, with the chairs way off in the far corner. Back behind the messy desk there was a large, overstuffed purple velvet sofa that looked like a relic from the 70's. And behind that lay what looked like a bed, but all that was visible were tumbled sheets and a cascade of blankets.

"Sit down," Elanovich repeated, still shuffling through his desk.

Seeing no place close by to sit, as he stood in the 'formal' side of the room, Brian sat down on the edge of the treadmill. 

"Ah ha!" Elanovich declared straightening back out from his former position of leaning over. He held a stack of papers in hand and a small metallic object in another.

He strode over to where Brian sat oddly on the treadmill, and peered down at him. Elanovich slightly cocked his head, looking puzzled as to what the sill Invie was doing. Deciding it wasn't worth it to try and understand the boy, Elanovich continued his former train of thought. "Anywho, I've found it now. And I see you've found the treadmill. Now, stand up, we have work to do."

Brian obeyed, and stood up expectantly o the treadmill. Elanovich told him to take of his shirt and he complied. The doctor fitted the metal device –which was about two inches in diameter- to a spot on the left side of his chest. Brian assumed it was to monitor his heart, but he wasn't entirely sure.

"Ok, I want you to run, and I will time you. Keeps going until either I tell you or you are unable to run anymore. Begin" He stated, and the treadmill started up.

Twenty-some minutes later, Brian was about ready to collapse. He was panting for breath and struggled to keep moving at a steady pace. He could hear the doctor's little heart monitor beeping irritably- it had just started to do that in the last few minutes and Brian prayed it was saying he should stop. 

Seeming to hear his pleas, Elanovich suddenly yelled out for him to stop as he stopped the machine. As Brian stood there gasping for air, the doctor leaned over to read something off the miniature monitor. He made another 'Hmmm' sound as he read, then made note of t on his clipboard. Once he was finished though, instead of removing the monitor and sending him on his way, Elanovich led him through more tests. Brian was timed and tested for arm strength, and just strength in general. Then Elanovich gave him a short page of long mathematical problems and a similar one on English problems and other various subjects as he was timed and watched.

Hours later, Brian wanted nothing more than to return to the cell and lay on the cool cement floor and stare at the boring ceiling. 

Through the large windows that were sporadically placed through Elanovich's office, Brian could see the sun setting behind the faraway hilltops. 

"Well, your all set." Elanovich declared more to himself than Brian. He fumbled with his lab coat pockets and retrieved a small radio and began speaking with Brian's guards. He then turned back to Brian. "Your guards are coming to escort you back to the bunkers." He stated.

Brian was dying to know what the end result of all these tests were, but Elanovich didn't look like he was really in the talkative mood. So Brian was soon escorted back to the bunkers and placed back in his cell just as twillight fell. 

"So how was I?" He heard Ice ask from his cell.

Brian was really too exhausted to speak, so he merely grunted.

"Ah," Ice said, his voice understanding. "Well, goodnight."


	10. The Fork in the Road

Disclaimer: I dunno if I have one of these already, but either way, I don't own Xmen, Gattaca, or any other somewhat familiar thing!

A/N: Thanks guys sooooo much for all your wonderful reviews!!! Y'all are really what keep me inspired to continue! Sorry about the long delay last week, reality and the cold bug both caught up and bit me in the behind last week, but I'm up and running again! :D Anywho, I love the reviews (I swear I'm addicted to them!) so whatever you do, please don't stop reviewing!!!!! Ok, well, that settled, On with the story!!!!

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Cigar smoke made the dim lights of the bar seem even dimmer and the loud ruckus of the small-town crowd made the place seem so typical to Logan. He'd been to plenty of these places over the last twenty years or so. _'Wow, twenty years,' _He thought sentimentally for a moment before taking another swig of his beer. He still didn't look a day older and still didn't know all that much more about himself since he had woken up that morning amongst the snow drifts with no memory of anything prior. Oh well.

If anything, Logan was nearing depression. He'd seen what had happened to the mansion a dozen days before, and had felt…well, guilty. He had done a pretty good job bailing the kids out last time, but he hadn't been there for them this time.

The headlines had blown the Xavier story out of proportion. They declared it a 'terror cell', and claimed not only did it kidnap mutant children to teach them how to bring down humans, but they were responsible for the recent attacks. In fact, Xavier's school was the big talk of every pompous politician and opinionated opportunist the stations could dig up. Heck, they'd even found some teenage girl Logan had never seen nor heard of before with obviously dyed bye hair to come on and claim she'd been a student at the school until she learned their 'real intentions'.

Logan snorted at the thought.

The middle-aged waitress gave him a raised eyebrow to which he sneered back at. Not to be particularly rude or anything, but he wasn't having the best of days. He was pretty much back at square one. HE was in a bar in northern Canada. Consequently, he was fairly close to where it had all started. Not where his dilemma had taken place, but where Rogue had hitched a ride in the back of his car. And of course where the 'high and mighty' x-men had rescued him, if you could really call it that. He sighed.

There was a quite clear fork in his road. He could go back, try and save them, be all noble – probably get arrested for mutation, as he heard they were doing now down in the States. Or, he could stay up here, start back again on trying to piece everything back together.

Getting frustrated with himself, Logan ordered up another beer. Maybe he'd break his record, get drunk, and maybe succeed at killing himself one of these days. Though he doubted the success of the last part of his plan. He had tried plenty of times as he had told Rogue once, and did he have a single scar to show for it? Nope.

"Don't ya think you've had enough?" The waitress asked, holding his beer just out of reach.

Logan stared up at her. "I think I'll be the judge o' that." He growled.

The waitress gave a roll of her eyes and handed him the beer. "Men," she muttered, walking away.

Logan lowered his gaze to the foamy top of his amber colored beverage. He had a dilemma indeed.

_________________________________________________

"Attention!" A figure yelled over a bullhorn. 

Brian stole a glance around. They were gathering the InValids, he had noticed. There was probably several hundred gathered out in the sand. He was assuming there were no mutants among the group, but he couldn't be sure. He did know the they hadn't take Ice from his cell.

"You all are here for a reason," The figure stated from where they stood on a small, white platform.

Brian's attention focused back on the speaker at the sound of their voice.

"You all have been at this point sorted into Level 1. You all are the InValids who are still considered at a low enough danger level to continue work. Some of you may have noticed we are already running out of space, having to store the mutants in normal cells with all of you. That is why you will participate in the new containment cells!" The voice declared, with a false sense of enthusiasm. 

"Just kill the bloody freaks!" A man closer to the front shouted. Several others voiced their agreement with the man.

The speaker turned towards the man, and paused before replying. "You do realize that would involve terminating all of you, now don't you?" The voice asked with poorly masked amusement.

The crowd fell silent.

"That's better." The speaker replied. "Now, Those of you that have been here for seven days or longer report to the B-block, those between three and six days over to C-Block, and the rest the Block D."

No one moved for a second, and the speaker then gave a sharp yell that got everyone moving again.

Brian made his way through the crowd towards B-Block, as of today he had been in the camp for seven days. When he arrived, he noticed that the B block definitely had a minority of members compared to the C and even E blocks. Which meant one quite obvious thing- the camp was growing, and rapidly at that.

His block consisted of seventy or so members, the oldest looked to be in their thirties. On older man stood out for being in his mid-forties. On the opposite end of the scale, the youngest was a young girl, whom looked like she was a mere eight years old. Brian crouched down next to her and asked her name.

"Emily," she replied timidly. As Brian looked closer at her, he was shocked to see the unnatural looking neon green and red flecks that ran through her eyes. As she stared at him with her large, unusual eyes, he found himself asking very quietly what she could do.

To this she gave a tiny smile, "I can see through things!" She said proudly.

Brian smiled at her enthusiasm. The whole 'mutant' thing had seriously creeped him out a mere few days before, but know, he felt sorry for the innocent looking little girl. Before he could say anything else, a man came by with a clipboard and gruffly held out a testing machine, wordlessly instructing them to slip their fingers in for testing. Brian went first and the man noted something down of his clipboard before telling Brian to go over to where a large number of guys were gathered. Brian obeyed, stealing a glance back at the little girl towards whom he felt so much pity.

A shriek from inside the crowding of people pulled back his attention, and mainly due to curiosity, he pressed himself forward through the circled of people. Oddly though, they seemed plenty happy to move aside for him, and with out him realizing it, he stumbled into the cleared out center of the group just as everyone seemed to take a good two steps back.

As he needlessly attempted to brush the dirt off the front of his already grubby jeans, he didn't notice the looks the people in the center gave him. It was very close to the looks a hungry predator would give it's prey before pouncing. He heard someone in front of him give a cold laugh and he looked up. What he saw horrified him.


	11. The Beheading and the Impostor

A guillotine stood tall in the middle of the circle. 

An old fashioned, wood and steel blade, honest to goodness guillotine. Brain remained frozen, half-standing and still half-bent over, his mind reeling- while his eyes remained locked on the tall structure a mere few feet away.

Beside the guillotine stood two masked, burly men. Their ski-cap type of masks revealed the proud grins the covered the lower half of their faces. Fresh blood lay spattered around the base of the guillotine.

A few feet away- and out of splattering distance- were two long tables covered in tiny, metallic utensils. Behind each table sat a guard; each was wielding a syringe and most also sharing in the proud, cocky look of the executioners.

"All right, who's next?" One of the masked executioners called, his eyes narrowing on Brian. "Oy, this one seems eager to give it a go," He said with a hearty chuckle. Looking around, Brian realized he had become alone in the crowd, standing out while everyone had pulled away.

Brian felt his knees weaken and struggled to stand as suddenly from no where another guard came up behind him had dragged him over to the closet table and plopped him down into the chair. Instantly, his holder was had disappeared. Brian found himself staring into the eyes of a thirty-some man whom was in need of a shave. He wore a camouflage print hunter's cap, and a button up flannel shirt missing its sleeves over a pair of typical uniform camouflage pants. 

"Number?" He asked, not bothering to check though Brian could see a handheld testing unit also sat on the table amongst the various other utensils. 

Brian told him, and the man just nodded.

"What'll it be, kid?" He demanded, chewing on something with the corner of his mouth. Brian guessed it was tobacco, since he just couldn't see the redneck farmer in front of him chewing on the latest flavor of hybrid spearmint.

Brian blinked; he had found his mind wandering again. He stared into the dark brown – nearly black eyes of the man in front of him. "What?" he found himself asking.

The man rolled his eyes. "Do you take the number or the..." He said, trailing off as he nodded in the direction of the guillotine. Brian followed his gaze them snapped his head back towards the man. What kind of question was that? More importantly, what was going on? What number?

"Well?" The man demanded, impatient.

"N..Number." Brian said, stuttering for what was the first time since he was nearly five. 

The man gave him a faked smile. "What a fine choice, mister." He said with a slight sneer as he began to fiddle with the syringe in his hands. Still confused, watching the man prepare for something made Brian nervous. He wondered what exactly had he gotten himself into; and prayed it was better than the guillotine. Of course, most things were better than death, but he simply couldn't shake the foreboding feeling of doom.

"Arm." The hillbilly-turned-army man demanded, not bothering to look back at Brian.

"Huh?"

The man's head bolted up. "Gimme yer Arm, Boy." He hissed. Brian obeyed, still unaware of what was going on. The man took Brian's left arm, turned it inside up and studied it for a moment. Then with a grin he slowly brought down the needle and Brian met a new kind of pain that afternoon

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

Later that evening, yet another anonymous guard led him back to his cell. Brian believed the man purposefully gripped his left arm harder. Either way, it still hurt like heck.

They paused as the security system outside his cell processed the guard's handprint, but without avail, the door opened with its usual quiet hiss.

The guard rudely shoved Brian in and slammed the door behind him.

Nearly as soon as the guard had left, Ice was at the window, peering in. "So how was your day?" He asked, a trace of sarcasm in his voice.

Brian remained sitting where he had fallen from the shove. He began to slowly peel off the large ace bandage that covered most of his lower left arm. At least they had been nice enough to give him an actual bandage, he thought bitterly.

"Anyway, I see we both have the same doctor," Ice continued, this time with even more sarcasm laced in.

By this time, Brian had just completed the removal of the bandage and was cradling his arm as he stared at it.

Ice continued, but Brian didn't hear him. A doctor,( had one been there) may have said at this point and time, Brian Tandon went into shock. But then, they didn't exactly have a doctor. Brian felt numb as he read the bold, blue quarter-inch high numbers that ran through the inside of his arm now.

He had been marked. Branded, almost. Like a piece of meat. 

His mind drifted back to history class. God, it seemed so far away. But more in specifics, he remembered the many days they spent on the holocaust. He remembered these numbers, the marking of prisoners in such a way, for it had already been done before. Except…the holocaust did not involve guillotines- it involved ovens. A chill went through Brian's spine despite the still temperate heat of the desert's early evening. He let his eyes drift up to one of the ceiling cracks, the one that gave him a small window to the sky. 

Brian heard the last of Ice's ramblings, the last line ringing out the clearest.

"Don't worry, It's only just begun…."

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ 

That night, Brian did not sleep. He tried, but the blackness of sleep eluded him. He had listened to Ice's lonely ramblings for a few hours until his companion had finally fallen asleep. Brian stared out the tiny ceiling crack for hours on end. The night was calming, but not peaceful. In the distance screams and the occasional cry could be heard. 

His mind was still flooded with images from is afternoon. After his tattooing was completed, he was left among the crowd of people. They had nothing to do, just sit in the blistering sun amongst the sandy mounds of dirt. Only one person was beheaded once he was there. He was sure the images were just the beginning of a large few that he would take with him forever. 

The beheaded was college-aged guy. He was dressed in torn clothes, and looked like he had been on the street. His eyes were dull and lifeless, and he seemed to be the type of person to surrender himself to death. Brian later pictured the guy committing suicide had he not been in the camp. Had he not been an Invie of course, things may have been different for the man. Suicide among the Valids wasn't unheard of, just not very common. 

The man was first tested to prove his number, then led over to the guillotine. The executioners eyed him gleefully. One came up behind the young man and forced him down into a crouching position. 

Brian was in a position where he could still see the man's face. He was crying softly. 

The executioners ignored the man's weeping; they may have even been pushed onward by it. Either way, the man's fate had already been sealed. With a loud yell, the executioners let the blade fall. 

Time seemed to slow as the blade dropped. Nothing else seemed to exist for Brian-- Just him, the man, and the executioners with their guillotine. A beam of sunlight hit the blade as it fell, giving off a bright flash of white light. Brian squinted. When he opened his eyes fully again, the blade rested at the bottom of the guillotine. The first five inches of the blade were smeared with the man's crimson blood. All around the base of the wretched machine was blood, and splattered on the executioner's pants, and also anyone unlucky enough to be close to the body.

Through all of this though, it really wasn't to bad, if you think about it. He was still alive, and except for the tattoos on his arm, he was pretty much in the same shape physically as he had been before. But the thing was, this was only the beginning as Ice had said. The beginnings are always easy, soft. Like the start of a new school year, the teachers are really nice and all in the beginning, with a few rules and disciplinary actions set out, but that's nothing compared to the end. The end, well, by the end it's usually unbearable. 

Ever since he had noticed the resemblance of the numbers on his arm and the events of WWII, Brian had been on the edge. He remembered reading somewhere of the mass murdering that was done to those in camps. The poor conditions, the numbers, the executions- though different still portrayed the point, they all led back to the main picture. This sure wasn't the rough part of the journey yet. Heck, He'd probably look back on this later and miss the easy days. 

But maybe there wasn't going to be a later for him though. Maybe he was going to become the next victim the guillotine claimed. 

______________________________________

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

_______________________________________

McIntosh impatiently drummed his fingers against the dark mahogany wood of his desk. The drumming rapidly sped up, and then with exaggerated frustration, McIntosh threw his hands up. HE banged on the intercom, with precision. "George!" He yelled. A rustle a mumbled cry of distress reached McIntosh from the other end of the intercom.

McIntosh gave a smile at hearing this as he leaned back in his expensive leather office chair. Mentally, he counted back from five, as he replaced his smile with the stern look that terrified the poor assistant.

As McIntosh reached one in his countdown, the door to his office swung open, revealing a disheveled George Cattermole.

Gasping for air, George managed to ask a quick, "Sir?".

McIntosh glared at his bumbling assistant. "Do you have the reports?" He asked slowly, as if trying to hold onto what little patience he had.

George stuttered for a moment. 

"Well?" McIntosh demanded, rising in his chair. 

"Sir, well, this is really quite interesting. You see, Stryker, He..he didn't have the files. I asked him myself." George struggled.

McIntosh stared dumfounded at the man. Why oh why didn't he hire a competent assistant? He wondered. As he continued to stare in disbelief, Cattermole began to fidget.

"You asked him yourself?" McIntosh finally managed. To this, Cattermole gave a series of nervous, speedy nods.

McIntosh continued, "I haven't seen Col. Stryker in years, George, was he in good shape? I remember he was going through a rough time with the death of his wife." McIntosh awaited the answer.

Cattermole seemed to hesitate before answering. "He was…the same, sir." 

"Really? He must be doing pretty good then, for a dead man." McIntosh concluded, with a smile. Not a happy smile, no, more of a sinister, condescending smile. "Now, George," He said, walking over to the man. "Where are my files?"

Cattermole bit his lip. Stuttering he replied, "I'm sorry sir."

McIntosh's eyes narrowed. "Why are you sorry, you twit?"

"I gave them to someone else sir…On accidence of course." Cattermole replied quietly, like a dog waiting to be whipped.

McIntosh began to walk in a slow circle around the assistant. "You gave my confidential, and very key files to someone else?" He asked quietly.

Now, even Cattermole knew that most times when McIntosh yelled, he was merely doing it for the overall effect. When he was quiet, then he was deadly.

"Sir, you can talk with security about it. I…I gave it to you, but you weren't you." Cattermole struggled to explain. 

McIntosh stared at him.

"Well, It looked like you. It was a mutant, sir," Cattermole finished.

"Care to explain, George?" McIntosh hissed, making another circle around the anxious man.

____________________________________________________

George Cattermole was in a hurry. This really was no surprise. His employer, McIntosh was always yelling. 'George do this, George do that.' He rolled his eyes, as he stood alone in the elevator. 

He had been supposed to give McIntosh the copied files from Stryker's computer network late in the afternoon, but suddenly, at nearly nine am, up had called McIntosh, demanding his files. This was typical of McIntosh, say one thing, expect another. 

George sighed as the elevator doors opened with a ping. He stepped out into the spacious lobby and looked around. This was another odd thing about the meeting, McIntosh had also demanded they meet in the lobby, next to the palm trees. McIntosh had a very nice office, George couldn't see why on God's green earth they were meeting in the lobby, but he didn't dare question his boss. 

George spotted McIntosh hidden behind the potted palm trees. He was impatiently glaring at his watch, and looking around with a nervous look. But this was yet again typical of McIntosh. He was a busy, public man and George understood that. He just didn't understand the occasionally eccentric behavior of McIntosh's.

George confidently walked over and was ignored momentarily by McIntosh. George stood right next to the seemingly oblivious man and cleared his throat. McIntosh spun around, and stared expectantly at him "Do you have the files?" He demanded.

George nodded briskly and handed the thick, printed out copies over to McIntosh, who smiled eagerly. Once the copies were in his hands, McIntosh's demeanor changed. He glanced back up at George, clearly not near as tense as he had been just moment prior. 

"George," He said, placing his hand of George's shoulder in a friendly manner. "Tell the techies to immediately erase the hard drives of Stryker's computer. I want everything deleted, you hear? I've been notified a protestors group is going to try to use this against me, so be quick to have them delete it all." And with that, Peter McIntosh walked away.

Unknown to Cattermole, whom had happily returned to his office, Peter McIntosh never left the building. But a blonde teenager did instead….

A few hours later, Cattermole was sitting in his office, twirling in his desk chair. He had pleased McIntosh, he still had his job, and he had no work at the moment. Life was good. Until the phone rang, that is. It was security. They had been reviewing the tape from the morning and noticed something odd. After meeting with Cattermole behind the palms, Peter McIntosh had walked into the Lobby's ladies restroom. This is what had alerted them. Well, this really had only caught their attention because the security guards that worked at minimum wage watching security cameras from the basement wanted to find some dirt on McIntosh. The man was a political figure, they reckoned he'd even run for president one day. So watching him go into the women's bathroom sent up big red flags for them. They assumed McIntosh was either gay or having an affair, so they excitedly switched to the cameras they had illegally placed in the bathroom. What they saw wasn't exactly what they were expecting or hoping for. 

As they watched, they saw McIntosh stride in front of the long mirror that rested above the pale pink bathroom sink and look at himself for a moment, and flash one of those cheesy smiles he was known for. Then, he changed. From Peter McIntosh's body morphed a thin, darkly skinned woman with short spiky hair. They couldn't tell exactly the color of either her skin or hair, due to the black and white cameras, but the male guards were busy focusing on a different matter. The woman appeared to be naked. 

Then, just as suddenly as the first transformation had begun, a new one started. The short hair grew longer, paler, while the skin also paled. From the woman's flesh a tight, fashionable miniskirt and matching tailored jacket appeared. Seconds later, a young woman, who appeared to be an intern stood in the place where Peter McIntosh had stood only moments before. She flashed a smile again, revealing behind her glossy lips a row of perfectly straight white teeth. From there she simply walked out.

Realizing what had happened; the guards had immediately called Cattermole. Unfortunately, they had learned of their mistake hours too late, and could do nothing to possibly find the woman. Cattermole was able to salvage the files from the Tech lab though. He thanked God they didn't listen to him when he had given them the order long before. And then all he had left to do was face McIntosh. George assumed McIntosh knew about the incident, but he was apparently very wrong.

__________________________________________________________

"And that's about it, Sir," Cattermole finished up. Of course, he had only given his boss the facts of the story, not his beliefs pertaining to McIntosh's general insanity, and the rest of that type of information.

McIntosh stared back at his assistant. He had stopped circling him about halfway through the story and now stood several feet away with his arms crossed.

"Here is the security tape," Cattermole struggled. He could tell McIntosh did not believe him. "The files should be done within the hour," He added desperately. 

With a sigh, McIntosh took the tape. Though he did not want to admit it to Cattermole, he fully believed his tale. He had proof, he remembered the night a few weeks ago in his office with the imposter who claimed to be Sadira. One thing disturbed him though. He had shot the imposter, and watched the EMT's pronounce her dead and take it to the morgue. Either whoever the imposter was is still alive and out to get him, or he had been visited by two mutants with the same power in that short of time period. That bothered the usually unshakeable Peter McIntosh. 

But, it was too late for the freak now. Far too late. The ball was rolling, and things were in motion. HE didn't think he could stop the anti-mutant act now if he wanted to. Maybe this is the rut Senator Kelly was in years ago. He was so supportive of something then one day just stopped. Oh well, that was Senator Kelly, man of the past. Senator McIntosh was the new IT man in the case against mutants. And this IT man was winning.

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A/N: Did I keep you all in suspense long enough before this chapter? Sorry bout that guys! Anyway, Once a again, a huge mountain of thanks to all my fantastic reviewers! Guin, Eight, Dslguy14, TornadoAlly, Pendragon4, and Kasey22—Y'all are wonderful!


	12. The Routine

Every morning afterwards for nearly two months, Brian was taken from his cell; along with the others whom were 'not dangerous', and joined up with his block. They had begun a project; apparently a high threat level mutant was coming and they needed a specialized cell. With two of the other quickly growing blocks, they had managed to dig a large, square pit that was probably nearing a few hundred feet deep. Their rapid work was outstanding, but logical. You don't work- you don't eat. And when you only got one meal a day, this meal became increasingly important. 

The daily routine became cemented in over the weeks leading up to this point. Every day since the tattooing, he was awoken by a screech-like sound that was blasted into the cells. Shortly after, a guard would escort him outside where he would take an old, rusted shovel from a pile directly outside. 

The next twelve hours were spent digging with the others. Of course, periodically they were given a short break, but it never seemed to last long enough. Then as the late winter sun would begin to set, they were sent back to the cells. 

Ice's eager electric eyes always greeted him as he arrived back in his cell. A volley of questions always greeted him, but he usually replied in mere single syllable answers. 

A tray of food was then brought, which he would devour hungrily. The meal consisted usually of something his school wouldn't even deem fit to serve in the cafeteria, but he welcomed it with open arms.

After the tray was collected, Brian liked to look at the stars through the crack in his ceiling. He would occasionally ask Ice about his school or his life, but recently the conversations had begun to dwindle. Tough he was reluctant to admit this of his friend, but Brian was beginning to worry about Ice getting depressed. His thoughts seemed to constantly drift back to his girlfriend, Rogue, whom with every passing day he was able to convince himself of her death. Upon occasion, deep into the night, Ice could be heard mumbling about Rogue, and two fellows named John and Logan. Sometimes the names of others joined in the lonely soliloquy 

And then everything would begin all over again after a few hours of sleep. Day after day, which turned slowly into week after week. 

Every so often an execution would take place, but for the time they were far and few between. Whenever they did occur, all of the prisoners would be forced to witness the death; which was sometimes slow, other times instantaneous. Since he had been in the camp, Brian had witnessed four deaths, including the first and quite remember-able guillotine death. The guillotine still stood in its place, far from the bunkers, but close enough that the silhouette was clearly visible. It was a viable threat, but primarily a tool used for fear not necessarily death. Sure it was effective, but one of the guns each of the soldiers carried was just as effective. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time they entered the middle of the second month in camp, the large structure was completed. It was still just a really large geometric hole in the ground, but when it had been examined by a group of inspectors clad in dusty lab coats, they had pronounced it satisfactory. 

The group had then moved over several hundred yards and began work on a bunker quite similar to their own, except it was underground. Other blocks were doing the same thing, in various places scattered around the camp. Whatever they were expecting to capture, it was going to be a lot of it.

As the buildings progressed, Brian noticed a lot of the cells were being specially fitted. One had thick, soundproof walls; while another was fitted with a system to fill with water once it reached a certain temperature. Others were specified to instantly release a poisonous gas if the walls were ever cut more than a quarter inch. One was simply incased in mirrors.

The cell that really caught Brian's eye was the original they had began work on. Suspended from the large pit was a tiny room made of what appeared to be plastic. Perhaps it was glass, he couldn't really tell from far away. He wondered who was going in that cell, and why were they so important to cause such an enormous effort over the building a 'proper' cell. 

________________________________________________________

But then today was different. For the first time in nearly three months, no one came to remove him from his cell. Brian could still hear a few people outside and the occasional sound of a guard walking down the bunker's halls, but no one came for him. Once he began to realize this, he sat up to talk to Ice, whom normally tried to sleep in. 

Ice was gone. 

Brian was shocked. Ice never went anywhere; in fact, he hadn't left his cell once in three months. Getting worried, things began to dawn on Brian. Ice had been growing more and more depressed recently maybe he had…. No… No, Ice wouldn't do that, would he? No, that was silly. Ice was in an empty cell, just like his own. There wasn't anything in there besides the walls and floor, certainly nothing one could use for suicide... But, had he ever actually asked Ice what his mutation was? Brian didn't recall ever doing so. He had always assumed it was just something to do with ice, but he wasn't completely sure…

He sat there propped up against the smudged steel walls of his cell for hours. Brian was bored and had long since pushed the mystery of Ice's fate into a far corner of his mind. Now, he simply thought of home. Though he realized this was selfish, he knew there was nothing he could do for Ice anyway. 

Brian's thoughts swirled back to Kelly. Right about now they would be waling home, maybe to his house o study, maybe hers. Then of course they didn't really seem to get _that _much studying in when they met anymore.

Or maybe it wasn't after school yet. The day seemed to crawling past at a snail's pace, but maybe perhaps it was still morning. He could be in English, with Miss Safstrom, the hippie. Oh, how many times they had made cracks about her and her Zen-like ideas. Or maybe he was suppose to be in math, another class he shared with Kelly. Unfortunately he shared it with a few of his friends to so he didn't spend much time with her. 

He closed his eyes and began to envision himself in class, sitting next to her. He gently reached his hand over and clasped hers in it. Her long pale fingers were a sharp contrast to her vivid purple nails. At his touch she turned, looking surprised. She gave a crooked half smile and flipped her red locks over her shoulder. The teacher, Mr. Perkins, paused from his droning lecture to give them a look.

"Kelly!" He scolded. Her attention snapped back toward the thirty-some teacher and where he stood by the whiteboard. She gave his hand another little squeeze before releasing it. 

Brian smiled and paid no attention to the rest of the lesson, he just studied Kelly as she dutifully continued to take notes on whatever it was Mr. Perkins found so fascinating in his monotonous voice. Then the bell rang for sixth period and….

He snapped open his eyes. Blinking rapidly, the first thing Brian noticed was that it was night. He bit his lip, it had seemed so real, and he had found himself believing it. 

But the ringing of the bell had been real, he realized. In the cell next to him – not Ice's former cell, but the one on the opposite side—there was now an occupant. 

Curious, Brian called out a questioning hello to them. When he received no reply, Brian sat up. His entire body hurt, and he le out a mild groan. Once fully up on his knees, he peered through the little window. 

A pre-teen girl sat in a dirty pile against the opposite wall. Brian called out a quiet, questioning greeting to her again. This time as small face encircled with matted brown hair looked up to meet his. Brian introduced himself then asked her name. She told him that it was Megan, after what seemed to be much consideration. 

Brian quietly talked to her for a little bit longer, until she fell asleep. 

Shortly after, Brian did as well. 


	13. The Testing

The following three days followed in a similar pattern; Brian stayed locked in his cell. He was beginning to get a taste as to how it must have been for Ice those long three months. 

For one thing, it was fricking hot. Now, really it wasn't any hotter than it had been when he was out there working, but it just felt different now. And for another thing, it was plain boring. 

His new neighbor seldom spoke, she merely stared at the wall most of the time. Oh sure, they'd had a good conversation or two as well, but she liked to keep to herself. Brian got the feeling something traumatic had happened before she came to the camp but didn't press the issue.

With each day the sounds outside grew slightly louder, but Brian still did not believe they were significant to show that everyone was back working. And while he kept telling himself he should be happy that he's not out in the hot sun toiling away in the sandy dirt with a shovel, he still persisted to worry. Worrying really wasn't something he was accustomed to, he rarely did so before being taken away. Sure, he might get a bit psyched up before finals or something like that, but nothing ever like this. No, definitely never anything like this.

Absently he began to hum the words to some long forgotten Linkin Park song as he drummed his fingers against the still barely cool walls of his cell. Getting lost within the song, which fittingly happened to be entitled 'Numb'; he mentally drifted off. 

Of course his thoughts drifted back towards home, or more appropriately, Kelly. He didn't really think much of his parents. Yeah, he missed them, but he had the feeling that before too long they wouldn't miss him. Kelly though, she wouldn't be so quick to forget him, would she? This thought really hadn't crossed his mind yet. Would she move one with her life while he was stuck down here in this makeshift prison? She couldn't…

His thoughts were interrupted by the hiss of decompressing air as the cell door slowly slid open. Sitting up, Brian anxiously tried to see who was coming for him. As always, it was just some young soldier there to escort him out. Feeling rather defeated, Brian stood up with his back to the soldier and placed his wrists behind his back, waiting to be handcuffed. The guard gave a half smile, which went unseen before handcuffing him and leading Brian away. 

But, instead of going in the normal direction for work, they went in the opposite way. They stopped at the showers, the same one where he had gone on his first day in camp. This was the first shower since, minus the two rain showers they had had. 

The water, though lukewarm and dirty was a thrilling sensation, which unfortunately did not last very long. As the guard lead him away, his formerly white, moist T-shirt and faded jeans clung tightly to his skin. By the time they had reached their destination, Brian had already guessed where they were going. The doctor's. Doctor Elanovich, that is.

As they climbed the creaky wooden staircase leading up to Elanovich's office, Brian grew slightly concerned. Why would they be checking him again? He wondered.

He would find out soon enough, he decided as the guard that was escorting him swung open the old wooden door to Elanovich's office. The doctor's office had overgone severe changes over the last few months. That was the first thing Brian noticed.

The former room had had a nice clash of split personalities, the front section all sterilized and appeared like a typical doctors office with a few pieces of gym equipment while the rest of the flat was decorated in an almost bohemian style. Now the entire thing was done in the cold, unwelcoming style of a doctor's office. The living space of the flat had been all but eliminated, save for two cots and a white kitchenette in the very back. 

The guard holding firmly onto his handcuffs loudly cleared his throat. From a door in the back of the room, Elanovich walked out, looking as unput-together as ever. He squinted at them from across the room. 

"No one's scheduled for another half hour," He declared, hurrying over. 

"Orders, Sir," The guard replied. 

Elanovich squinted at the again, though this time he was only a mere few feet away. Then he got a look of realization and withdrew a small yellow walkie-talkie from his lab coat pocket. He mumbled a few things into it and got a static filled response. He turned back towards the two with an apologetic look. 

"One of the other doctors, Viv, made the appointment. Sorry. She should be here momentarily so we can begin." He stated before turning to fumble with the setting on one of the exercise machines.

Shortly after, the door opened with its usual loud creak to reveal Viv, a younger, cold doctor clad in the typical lab coat. Her black hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her distinctive Asian features added to her feeling of coldness. She gave Brian and the still waiting escort a quick look down before addressing Elanovich. They conversed quietly before Viv gave the guard the signal to leave. 

Once the guard was gone, Viv went into power mode. She walked over with a sense of precision, her black heels clacking against the hard floor. She checked his arm, then seeming to approve of what she saw, she gave a nod to Elanovich.

From there, they proceeded to go through a similar experience as last time, but more strenuous. With the ending of each new task, Viv was sure to mark down a little something on her clipboard. 

After what felt like many hours of this process, they stopped. Viv had him lay down on the makeshift-operating table and she began to strap him it. Brian panicked. 

"Elanovich!" She yelled, and the other doctor came running. "Hold him," Viv continued. Elanovich did as he was told, restraining the flailing teen. A few moments later, Viv was finished securing the oversized straps. "That wasn't so bad, now was it?" she sarcastically said to Brian as she toyed with something above his head. 

And with that she placed several electrodes strategically around his head, and one on both the side of his neck and the inside of his arm just below the elbow. Brian heart was pounding as he heard her slowly punch a few keys on what sounded to be a laptop. Then a slight whirling sound started up and Viv backed away. A few minutes later, she stood up and adjusted one of the little black electrodes. Brian struggled to lift his head up so he could see what she as doing but the most he saw was a pale, slender hand tipped off in long silver fingernails. But then she moved away, out of his view, leaving him to only stare upwards towards the old, cracked ceiling.

What seemed to be an eternity later, (though in reality it had only been an hour), the doctor returned and switched off the machine. One by one, she removed the electrodes as the machine began printing out something. While Brian was still strapped down, Viv took his wrists and pulled them close enough together to replace the handcuffs. Once they were secure, she took her time undoing the restraints.

Once free from the binding, black straps, Brian quickly sat up. Viv ignored him while she rea the machine's printout as it came out. Absently she bit on the corner of her lip and let out a quiet 'hmmm'. 

Just then, another guard and prisoner entered the office. The prisoner was a guy who looked about Brian's age, maybe a bit younger. Seeing the two intruders, Viv's head snapped up. 

"Doctor Vivian Tseng?" The guard questioned with a tone of uncertainty. 

She briskly nodded and immediately closed down the laptop (now that he was sitting upright, Brian could tell the wires led to a small black box with several blinking red and green lights, and that ran a single wire into the back of Vivian's laptop.).

With that, Viv hurriedly helped Brian off the table and exchanged him with the guard's previous prisoner.

"Take him back," Viv hissed before focusing all of her attention on her new specimen.

____________________________________

Later that night, long after Brian had been returned to his cell and most of the faculty were in their quarters, Doctors Vivian Tseng and Paul Elanovich were both consumed with the days prior testing results.

Most of the tests were very normal, even worse than before by comparison. But a few stuck out of the lot.

"Look at this," Vivian said, pointing to an erratic line on a chart. Elanovich pushed his reading glasses higher up the bridge of his nose and held the paper under the light. He let out a soft, thoughtful 'hmmm'.

"That's unusual…" He said, his voice trailing off. 

"Here's what it should look like," Vivian continued, handing Elanovich a printout of another's score on the exam. "Should we monitor it?" She questioned.

Elanovich held to two very different looking tests in each hand, and cocked his head slightly to the side as if to ponder this question. "It could be nothing," He stated.

"It could be something," Vivian replied sharply.

Elanovich dropped the papers and sat back in his chair with a sigh. "You handle it," He finally said with a casual wave of his hand.

Vivian promptly stood up. "Of course, Sir. Thank you." She said coolly as she left. 

As she walked down the stairs into the moonlight outdoors, she smiled and loudly cracked her knuckles.


	14. The Year

****

PART TWO: ONE YEAR LATER…

_________________________________________________________

Peeking in from behind the thick wooden door was a young aide to the newly elected President.

"President McIntosh?" The aide questioned timidly to the back of a large leather office chair. The chair slowly spun around, revealing a polished looking young man. He gave a cheesy smile as he tightened his tie and questioned, "Yes?"

The aide gave a slight quiver then said that he had received the reports on Base One for him. To this McIntosh gave a real smile and gestured for the aide to come in. 

The aide entered and set the thick manila folder on McIntosh's desk; and began to walk away.

"Have we heard anything from Base Two yet?" McIntosh inquired. 

The aide paused before turning around. "No, Sir. Although I am aware that they have had some…troubles in the construction process."

McIntosh nodded gravely, "Yes, I know. Well, good work. Have a good day." He said with a salute-like gesture.

The aide forced a nervous smile before quickly vacating the room. 

As soon as the door clanked shut behind him, the aide breathed a sigh of relief. Though with the recent success of Base One and continuous media coverage, McIntosh had as of late been excessively upbeat, one could never take something like that for granted.

___________________________________________________

Once the aide was gone, McIntosh returned to his view out the window behind him. The window gave him a rather nice view of the below front lawn, not to mention the multiple secret service agents that were supposedly placed strategically around the White House. McIntosh snorted at this thought.

It had been a busy year, if he did say so himself. The media had finally caught up them somewhere along the line. Surprisingly though, there had been no need to hide Base One and the rest of the project for the several months that they did. Once He and McKenna had announced a 'containment camp' for the terror causing mutants currently threatening American society', the idea had been welcomed with open arms. Calls came pouring in for weeks afterward from concerned citizens wanting to report mutants in hiding. This in fact is what had led to the construction of Base Two. 

Unfortunately, Base Two was having many more severe delays than Base One had had. Every few weeks it seemed a new kind of vandalism occurred, but things were still coming along very nicely.

In fact, things in both camps were coming along so greatly, they were prepared to move in the high level mutants. Lehnsherr, Xavier, Darkholme, were currently being transported to Base One. At the moment they were tracking the infamous John Allerdyce and the Wolverine.

Ah yes, The Wolverine. William Stryker had left so much about him in his files, one would get the idea that Stryker was quite obsessed with the man- if you could call Wolverine a man. The mutant was on the run -that was something one could be certain of. Every week or two, three at the most he was spotted. Mostly, he was smart and stayed frozen up in the Canadian Rockies. One time though, right before McIntosh was elected, he had been spotted making a steady line for Base One – and they almost caught him then. Well, all that produced was a half-destroyed guard station and nearly twenty deaths.

But back to him, McIntosh, now. Peter McIntosh had been elected President last November by a landslide, no recount necessary that year! Of course, the 'evidence' he had found on McKenna was so startling, it really wasn't a surprise that less than 30% had voted for him. McIntosh grinned at the fond memory.

His intercom buzzed.

"Talk to me," He told it…all with much more merrily than he would have a year ago. Things had been on the rocks then, but now, he was in the driver's seat.

"Sir," His secretary with a nasally voice began. "We just received a report from the lab… They said they can fax the report to you if ya don't wanna talk to them." She stated between loud smacks of her gum.

McIntosh grimaced. "Thank you, Mary." He said quickly before turning off the intercom. Good help was nearly impossible to find…He would have to remember to have that bumbling aide fire that secretary in the morning.

With that though, he picked up his shiny, black office phone and began dialing up the lab. They had better have good news or else heads would roll. 

The line rang five times and he was about ready to hang up when it was finally picked up. At this point though, McIntosh was in a very temperamental mood. No one made the fricking President of the fricking United States wait to talk. No one.

"President McIntosh!" The overly cheerful voice of the lab's CEO immediately called out. "How is Base Two coming along?

McIntosh gave one of his stressed smiles even though he was on the phone and could not be seen. 

"Is it ready?" He demanded. This was not the time for pleasantries. When the serum was complete; then they could mingle and make small talk as much as they pleased, but that time was most certainly not now.

"Well, As you know we did run into some difficulties, sir," The CEO Struggled.

"No, I do not know." McIntosh hissed.

"There was the problem of recreating it, as the original organic source had been…um…destroyed. There was then the problem with the bacteria strain, and the restriction enzymes, but to make it short that set us behind a good month perhaps two." The CEO said as calm and collected as one could under the circumstances.

"I can not give you bastards anymore time!" McIntosh screamed into the phone with fury. From the other end the CEO could be heard stammering for some sort of explanation.

"Now," McIntosh said, interrupting the man. "I want that serum. I need that serum. If not one of your damn employees can do this then we may see a drastic change around here. Do you understand?"

"But, But, Sir!" The CEO cried as McIntosh slammed the phone down.

Breathing heavily, McIntosh slowly at back in his chair and rested his shining dress shoes on his desk's edge. He gave a cocky grin to himself for he knew he would get the serum by morning. Plenty of time…

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Theresa Roarke, also known as Siryn, let out a long, rasping breath. She could just barely move from her sitting position. Another rasping breath. With her little amount of mobility she slowly rocked back and forth. They would be coming soon. Yes, they always came.

The dim light above her blinked in and out several times as she heard the sound of footsteps. He heart raced at the sound.

The footsteps paused right outside her cell. It was them, It was them. Her rocking stopped with this terrifying thought.

Several feet away a bright light sprang forth. As her eyes adjusted she could she the guard here to give her the injection.

The guard took several steps inside and leaned over. Siryn opened her mouth to scream but all that emerged was rattling gasp. To this the guard laughed. "Keep it up, mutie!" He cheered sarcastically as he reached behind her head. Pushing he head farther back he injected her with a syringe in the base of her neck. He slowly backed away, pausing to look down at her while she mouthed obscenities at him. He laughed as he walked away, closing the door behind him. The room plunged back into the dim darkness.

Siryn began to shudder, her shuddering becoming a full body shake. The thick foaming kept her in place though. Her cell was filled with a thick off-white foam which filled each wall. In the very center of the cell she sat, wedged in between the slabs. She had always guessed his was a precaution to drown out any sounds that may come from within, case the injections ever failed.

Twice daily, for however long she'd been here, a guard came and injected her, as had just happened. By the time she was even semi-close to being able to whisper again, they returned with another injection. 

'Always another injection.' She thought as she resumed her gentle rocking.

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Brian was out in the field when the helicopters came. That's what he did nowadays; work out building things or planting things sometimes even dismantling things out in the field. The field was made up of the few dozen miles of empty desert out past the bunkers and labs. Luckily he had never been one of the ones forced to work with the executioners.

The executioner's had the worst job around. Though there were multiple forms of unnatural death in the camp, there where three which were the most popular.

First, there was shooting. This was probably the most common, as it could happen out in the fields, so they could just leave the body out there. Then there were always the public execution, such as the hangings and beheadings. These tended to be saved for the occasional mutant, but InValids were sometimes an exception. There was a rumor going about though, that there were new plans in the works. An Invalid who had just come recently had spoken of the troubles the new President was facing with overcrowding in this camp and numerous delays in the future camp's construction. They said his next option was to decrease the current population of this camp drastically unless something could be done soon. This certainly did not sound good at the time, but since then Brian had brushed it off. The new people always seemed to think they were not only better, but also they still hadn't accepted the reality that they too were probably going to die here.

But going back to the helicopters Brian saw. He had been out about half a mile outside of the farthest points from the camp (still within the main fence though of course), with about twenty other workers and what he guessed to be seven or eight guards amongst them. They were working on a new storage container, one of the less interesting jobs, but it was still better than some. 

That's when the noise had started. One of the other prisoners had actually noticed it first, but within seconds everyone in the group was looking up at the clear blue sky and watching the grouping of miniscule black dots cross it.

"Reckon their heading back to camp?" One of the older, southern members of their little brigade had questioned aloud.

Throughout this, the guards remained silent, only one even bothering to look up. 

"Yep, I reckon they are doing just that," The Southerner continued before turning back to his work.

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A/N: Thanks everyone for your great reviews, once again, you guys all rock!

Dslguy14 -- Sorry if it got a bit slow-paced in their, Promise something's are coming to shake up this humdrum little concentration camp! ; ) Also, you should be completely totally and absolutely be expecting a mutation out of Brian, remember, only 67% chance of mutation!

Cat-- See the above about Brian's….condition pertaining to mutation. Thanks for the review! 

Guin-- Hmmm…..Now if I told you who it was, then I'd wreck the whole 'shocking revealing of the truth…' Nah, I think I'd much rather save that for a tad bit longer.

Pendragon4 -- Yay! Can't wait to read it! Thanks

Kasey22 – Once again, thanks and glad you like it!

Gosh, you guys are all so wonderful! *Grins* Keep on reviewing! 


	15. The Missing

Unknown to Brian or any of the other prisoners, these helicopters held some very precious cargo. These ordinary military helicopters contained the still forms of three of the most infamous mutants known to humanity; Eric Magnus Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, and Raven Darkholme. Of course, there wasn't too much worry about the latter of the three, for she was most obviously the weakest. If awakened, Lehnsherr or Xavier could tear this camp apart with out so much as the batting of a single eyelash. Everyone knew this and everyone was both terrified and thrilled at the mere thought.

The captain of the helicopter was glad to be almost done with this kamikaze mission. He and his copilot had transferred on as the replacement pilots down in Houston, so they were just starting to get tired. 

The pilot leaned forward slightly to get a clearer view of the wing-walker below him. This was completely unnecessary, but no expense was being spared.

Moments later the first helicopter was safely on the ground. In a sudden rush, a flow of men clad in SWAT uniforms rushed forward, hastily trying to enter the helicopter. Before the pilot knew what was happening, he could see a sheet covered body being propelled through the swarm. As the other helicopters landed, similar things happened with each one. The pilot slowly sat back in his seat as he watched the anxious task force work disappear underground. As he sat watching a middle-aged man came running towards them, hands clamped to head to hold his hat in place. He wasn't doing a very good job. 

As soon as he was close enough, he began waving his free arm and yelling for them to take off. The pilot faked he couldn't hear. The man came slowly closer, repeating for them to turn back. 

"What?" The pilot yelled, gesturing with the radio. The men realized his error and quickly backed away as he fished a small pocket radio from his coat. 

"Go back to Denver, Houston wherever!" The man shouted with a static filled voice over the radio.

"Why?" The pilot questioned. This wasn't in the arrangements.

"Trust me. You will get your money once you land. Just radio us where you're going." The man replied with a staccato voice.

The pilot exchanged a look with his weary copilot before nodding towards the desperate man. With that they began the take off procedure as the man proceed to run away.

_______________________________________________

"Easy! Easy!" One of the anonymous doctors screeched. The limp, pale body of Xavier was being fitted in his cell. The 'cell' was more of a hollow sphere, a suggestion found in the notes of Stryker's. 

Xavier was to be laid down on an elevated table in the center of the room. His disability would prevent him from laving with minimal security measures. Once the lab completed Serum 128 (AKA Stryker's Serum), everything would go smoother than ever imagined. 

"Okay…Okay…There! Perfect! … For goodness sake STOP!" The tense doctor yelled, madly waving his arms. The doctor peered over to check on the systems, then when their sight was satisfactory, he turned and began to usher everyone out. 

They were almost finished. They had secured Magneto first, for if he woke up he'd destroy everything in sight and then ask questions. Xavier on the other hand would try to make peace with them, so they were much safer in the hands of a pacifist than those of an insane racist. With Xavier now secured, all that remained was Darkholme. 

The doctor, followed by a large entourage of military personnel, quickly strode down a long highway in a hurry to get back to the unconscious body of the shadowy Mystique. There shouldn't have been any problems in guarding her but… Oh what did he have to worry? The amount of sedatives the mutant had been given was enough to knock out an African elephant! 

With that thought, he confidently approached the small circle of guards surrounding the stretcher. He gave a nod to them and gestured for them to continue towards the next cell. 

The clatter of many boots on the concrete gave him an odd but reassured feeling. Just one more drop off and he was home free.

The group came to a stop and proceeded to part as the doctor made his way over to the stretcher as the lead officer opened the cell door.

"Alrighty, milady," The doctor said purely for effect as he approached the stretcher. "Here we go," He said as he pulled back the sheet. A gasp went through the group and the doctor froze in horror. Under the sheet lay a deceased private, still fully clothed in the SWAT style uniform. 

"Shit," The doctor breathed. "Shit!" He yelled, repeating his previous statement. He spun around, wildly looking to each of the surrounding personnel with a panic-stricken face. There…There was no way to tell, no way to find her! Heck, she could be long gone by now. 

Coming slowly back to his senses, The doctor withdrew his pocket radio. 

"We've got a problem," He began.

_________________________________________________

"Lieutenant Bob H. Ewell." The bored guard read off the man's license. "Where'd ya say you was going?"

The young lieutenant smiled kindly at the attendant. "Down to California, Sir. My mother…" He paused, looking down. "She passed away this morning. Need to go back home for the weekend." When he looked up, tears were beginning to well in his eyes. 

With a sigh, the attendant handed him back his wallet and ID. "Have a nice trip sir. Sorry 'bout your mother." 

The lieutenant gave a forced smile. "Thank you, Sir." He said before driving away. 

Once he was several hundred yards away and the lights from the guard station hand long ago faded, the Lieutenant's eyes slowly changed from their honey brown to a bright yellow.

As the car entered onto the empty highway, it cruised a while before it came to a green sign. It read 'EXIT 113 – SAN FRANSICO" and directly below that hung another sign that read "EXIT 116 – VANCOUVER" 

The car took the latter exit.


	16. The Rendezvous

Ruslin was a sleepy little mining town in the northern Washington Cascade Mountains. Here, the local officials were so desperate for business they didn't care if you were mutant or human. If you had cash to spend, you were welcomed. There were few places like this left.

Logan was strolling down the main street, with its 1800's style storefronts and high cement sidewalks. He entered the town's sole restaurant and gathering place, entitled 'Village Pizzeria'. The pizza place was the big place to be for the towns five hundred or so residents. 

As he entered the dimly lit pioneer styled restaurant, the locals, whom he nodded back to, immediately gave him a few greetings. Logan kept walking straight towards the back, where there was a partial bar set up. 

The restaurant's hippie owner, a Grant "Bru" Bruinius, gave him a wave and handed him a full mug of beer as he sat down. 

"How's it going, Logan?" Bru questioned as he pulled his shoulder length pale brown hair back into a ponytail. 

Logan shrugged as he took a long sip from his mug. He was about to give his friend a half-decent reply when Bru let out a long whistle. Logan turned to see what he was looking at.

A tall blonde in a tight leather mini dress and knee high boots walked in with an unusual sense of confidence. She began to walk back towards them with the gait of a model. 

"Woo, don't see them like that around here often," Bruinius whispered to Logan with a slight nudge, his brown eyes not leaving the woman's figure.

Logan rolled his eyes. "Hate to break it to ya, but you married, Bru." He said before taking another sip of his beverage.

The woman came up behind him and slowly ran her finger across his back. "Hey you," She said as if she knew him. To this Bru laughed and turned to his other customers with a playful wink to Logan. Logan tolled his eyes. 

"Hear anything from everyone's favorite rogue lately?" The woman asked with a laugh.

Logan turned to her, his temper rising. "Who the hell do you think you are?" He demanded but stopped. Frozen, Logan could see very clearly now who this was. "Get the hell away from me." He growled, withdrawing his wallet to pay for his drink. He slammed a few bucks down on the counter before fuming out of the restaurant.

"Logan!" He could hear her call, and the clatter her high-heeled boots gave as she tried to follow him.

Logan stepped off the tall sidewalks with a slight jump and began to mount his motorcycle. She came to a stop above him on the sidewalk. 

"What do ya want?" he asked bitterly.

"Your help." She said, out of breath from her from her exaggerated chasing after him.

Logan snorted. "I'm sure you do." He said putting his other leg over his motorcycle and was prepared to drive away. "Give me a good reason why should I believe you?" He snapped.

She leaned over and gripped the chrome handlebars. "Because you don't have anything to lose." She simply stated. Logan stared up at her, her false green eyes. As he watched they quickly changed their natural yellow then to an ice blue. 

"What did you have in mind?" Logan finally questioned with a sigh.

Mystique grinned.

__________________________________________________

Logan was fumbling with the keys to his apartment while simultaneously trying to catch looks at Mystique who patiently stood behind him.

He managed to unlock to door and walked in first, flipping on the lights. The apartment was small, heck the whole complex was only three floors. It had supposedly been built for the actors from some TV show that was filmed here in the early 90's.

As Logan leafed through the mail – most of it being junk – Mystique looked around, surveying his mess. His ratty couch a ancient television, the mess of assorted cloths that were thrown about in a flurry, the tattered unmade bed that was push into the farthest corner. 

Logan cleared a few old take-out cartons off the flimsy card table. He gestured for her to sit as he entered the kitchen to throw the boxes away.

Mystique made her way across the room to the table, being careful not to step on Logan's scattered clothes.

Just as she sat down, Logan returned, rubbing something off his hands onto his faded jeans. He sat down and stared at her. "So?" He asked.

Mystique rolled her eyes. _'Typical' _She thought with annoyance. "How's this? We get John, We get a plan, then we end this shit." She hissed.

"This isn't going to work." Logan stated.

"Well unless you want to end up laced with sedatives in the middle of the desert, and spend the rest of your life in a five foot cube and as the plaything for some crazed scientist you better come up with something better." She said, her voice low and cold.

Logan stared back at her. "Why the hell do you need me for though? Don't you and Magneto have a whole army of gung-ho human haters?" He sneered, standing up.

"We need all the help we can get." She said in her normal, toneless voice.

Logan snorted and walked out the door. He needed a drink.

________________________________

"Sorry Logan, But it's about time to lock up," Bru said, blinking at his watch. It was nearly two in the morning and the pair was on their second pitcher of beer. They had been discussing Logan's vaguely coded troubles and Bru's issues with his wife. Logan's half of the conversation had taken up most of the talk.

Bru's advice had been to do whatever the woman wanted. Logan had tried to explain why he shouldn't, but he blew that off nearly as soon as he began. He didn't have the will to try and come up with silly and confusing metaphors for his situation with a bunch of mutants just s he could pour his heart out to this crack-smoking hippie. Granted that hippie happened to be a rather good friend of his, but that was entirely beside the point. 

But somewhere around the start of the second pitcher of beer Logan had lost track of the point, heck, he'd lost track of everything. He didn't care anymore. 

As Bru ushered his outside, Logan slowly staggered back to his apartment. He wasn't really that drunk, just a little bit with a lot of confusion and depression thrown in. He had no clue what he was going to do. HE felt he should do something for Xavier and their lot, but he certainly didn't want to end up in some mutant experimentation program locked away somewhere. Nope, been there done that…sometime or another.

Logan opened his apartment door and flipped on the light and much to his distaste found Mystique asleep on the couch.

"Bloody…." He mumbled a few curses under his breath as he kicked an old flannel shirt out of his way. 

Once he reached his bed, He stripped down to his jeans and crawled into his messy bed. As he lay awake in the darkness momentarily, he continued to ponder what Mystique had asked him earlier. What did he really have to lose?

_____________________________

The next morning, Logan awoke to the sound and smell of something cooking. Dazed, he propped himself up and stared confused into the kitchen.

There stood Mystique, in her natural form, flipping over a few pieces of well-done bacon. She turned and glanced back at him. "Good, your awake." She said before turning back to her cooking.

"What are you doing?" Logan asked warily as he slipped on a plain white T-shirt. 

"Making breakfast," Mystique replied, her toneless voice giving a hint of annoyance.

With a confused look, Logan sat down at the table. "I've been thinking about what you said," he began.

To this, Mystique turned around with a raised eyebrow. "And?" She questioned.

Reluctant, Logan continued, "I'll do it."

Mystique grinned. "We need to go." She declared before turning around and turning off the stove and dishing up all the food onto a plate. She thrust the plate at Logan before walking off into a corner of the living room.

Absently, Logan took a bite of bacon while wondering what he was getting himself into.


	17. The Crossing Over

"Yer sure this is the place?" Logan said, turning to catch a glimpse of Mystique in her latest masquerade. She was fully able to pass off as a biker chick – a tiny lock of reddish brown hair was visible with her bulky dark helmet. 

They had just driven up on Logan's motorcycle and had stopped in front of a dilapidated brick inner city apartment building that looked like it had been abandoned for quite some time now.

Mystique dismounted from her spot on the bike clutching Logan's backside and stood up. Immediately she removed the helmet and casually clutched it under her arm, as she looked the building up and down once before giving herself a sure nod. She began walking confidently forward and gestured for Logan to do so as well. 

Logan slowly dismounted and considered for a moment how safe it was to leave the bike out in the deserted alleyway, but he shrugged it off. If anyone so much as dared to touch his bike, he'd be sure to give them hell.

He then realized he'd lost Mystique. With an annoyed breath he quickly entered the darkened building and began to cautiously look around.

The ground floor of the building was wet, smelled like a sewer, and Logan was sure he could hear the scurrying of rats from within the walls. But he couldn't hear the scurrying of one cocky mutant and her younger flame-thrower.

Just as he was getting ready to go back outside to wait – or maybe even leave, a hand grabbed his shoulder. In a flash, his claws popped out with a loud slicing sound and he had them pointed at his attacker's neck. Then he actually looked to see who it was.

John.

Logan continued to glare at the longhaired former student when Mystique appeared from the shadows behind John. She looked at the two and smirked as she casually leaned against the cool brick.

John gave a nervous smile. Logan studied the boy for a moment. He figured John must be about twenty-one now, like Bobby and Rogue. His long hair hadn't really changed, it was still combed back and was an inch off his shoulders. There were a few new scars across his face, and he looked like he had been living on the street for sometime now. The biggest difference in John Allerdyce though was his eyes. When he had left four, nearly five years ago, he had had the cocky look of a teenager who claimed to be all 'hard-core' but had never witnessed the real horrors of war. Now all this time later, John knew. He had felt pain, he'd probably caused most of it. And now he was just some kid living on the streets in Vancouver, hoping not to be discovered as the infamous mutant terrorist that he was now known to be. Logan almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

"Nice to see ya, kid. Now spill." Logan said slowly lowering the claws that had been aimed at John's neck. 

John smiled. "Good to see you too, Logan. How's everyone?" He asked sarcastically but Logan could hear a hint of sincerity in the boy's words.

"And how would I know?" Logan sneered. He was really starting to regret this whole little plan.

John ignored Logan's comment. He glanced back at Mystique then back to Logan. 

"We need to talk," He declared.

__________________________________________________

Brian's group was still working on the construction of the shed. It was a particularly hot day, Brian guessed it was probably around July, though he honestly didn't know anymore. The days in the desert were long – or maybe the work made time pass even slower. 

He paused from the digging and looked around. They were tired, all of them. The guards were growing more and more impatient as time wore on. Brian panted for breath in the heat. He used a tattered sleeve from his worn T-shirt to wipe sweat from his brow. It was times like these were he wished more than ever he was normal.

"You! Back to work!" One of the guards yelled from behind a pair of oversized mirrored sunglasses. He's been spotted resting.

Brian slowly turned and squinted at the guard. The guard's poised figure was silhouetted against the late afternoon sun. 

"I said, Back to work!" The guard repeated, raising his rifle menacingly. Brian cocked his head to the side, he couldn't understand what they were saying.

"Do it freak! Now!" The guard yelled again. The rest of the workers and guards were now focused on the enveloping scene before them. The guard took a step forward- his rifle still raised.

Brian's eyes drifted up to the sun. It was so hot. That's all he could think. Over and over, he thought about the heat, the orange rays the sun was casting, and the figure in front of him making noise. The guard's voice was thundering and yet nearly inaudible. What was it saying? He couldn't tell. But he told him self that it couldn't be important. His head hurt. He wanted to be anywhere but here. Anywhere. 

He heard a shot fired and slowly the image in front of his eyes melted away. He was back home. He was standing in the dining room, setting the table. Only two place settings. 

The scene blurred again and this time he was with Kelly. They were leaving the movie theater, hands entwined the movie had been good. He turned and automatically said something to her while he was thinking and to this she shrieked with laughter. Playfully she punched arm. 

"Jeff!" She squealed. "That's horrible!" She finished between giggles.

He laughed too and said something else. Brian wasn't sure what he was saying. Then he stopped. Or at least tried to, his body kept walking. What had she called him? Jeff, who was this Jeff? Brian was puzzled. His body came to a stop next a new black Lexus. Kelly was on the other side, waiting for him to open the door. Then out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of himself in the car's mirrored windows. If Brian had been in control of his body, he would have screamed, cursed, or at least done _something_. But this wasn't his body and he wasn't in control. Staring back at him was some junior from his old high school. Brian hadn't known him, but he was known as a rich brat. Kelly was dating him. Brian felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. His host body rubbed his hand to his own stomach. Brian felt himself getting in the car and sitting down. God, the car was new. It had that smell. He felt himself turning towards Kelly and leaning in for a kiss. She smiled and….

Brian bolted awake in a foreign room. The walls were concrete as was the ceiling and floor and he found himself laying on a raised stainless steel operating table. A doctor stood on each side of him. The one on the left, whom had been writing notes on a clipboard, noticed he was awake first. They gestured to the other doctor who looked down at Brian. The two doctors nodded to each other and one of them stepped off to the side. From the corner of his eye, Brian could see the doctor take out a cell phone and begin dialing.

"Was I shot?" Brian whispered, remembering vaguely the scene from the field.

The remaining doctor looked over at him with pity and shook their head. 

Brian slowly turned his head over to look at the doctor. He asked what had happened with a hoarse voice.

The doctor ignored him this time and gently took hold of Brian's arm. He struggled to resist, but was met with no reward. The doctor brought down a syringe and then Brian was unconscious.

______________________________

"Hello?" Brian's voice echoed through the dark, empty cavern. The last thing he remembered was struggling with the doctor and closing his eyes. Now he was here, in a circular cave of sorts. The bottom of this cave was covered in a good three inches of murky, freezing water. He could hear voices coming in front of him and…

…He was now walking down a crowded street. Everywhere around him was Asian and all he could hear was the foreign sounds of an Asiatic language. He paused to greet someone when…

…He tripped over a fallen rotting tree trunk. The air was thick and humid, and greenery surrounded him. A tall, leggy woman dressed in khaki helped him up. She was gesturing towards something in the distance, a bird, he thought. He pointed at whatever it was and made a few gestures. He turned to their guides, a tiny Hispanic man and his son, and rattled off something in Spanish to them. They were getting into a heated discussion before…

…He was sitting on a bed, inside what appeared to be a little girl's bedroom. The sheer ruffled curtains bathed the room in sunlight and he looked over the mess of playthings that scattered the floor….

…Walking in the woods. A sound behind him! He bolted. Running. Fear. Oh God…

…Sand flying in his face as he fell. He had missed the shot…

…An old man was yelling something in German…

…Icy water enveloped him…

…Darkness…

_____________________________________________________________________

A/N: A big whopping thanks to all my outstanding reviewers!!!!

Roz – Of course I remember you! Anyone reading this who likes Star Wars should go read Roz's fics! They are the best ever. …hehe… Um, the website didn't work out. Kinda a long story. Sorry! I'm thinking about giving it another try when it gets closer to summer, so if I do I promise you'll be the first to know!

Kasey22 – Thanks for all your reviews! You really hit the story line on the head with your review of chapter fifteen! I read that, having the next chapter already written, and was all 'whoa!'. Hehe. Anywho, I love your reviews, don't stop! ;)

Pendragon4 – Yes, I know I am a god. ;) Ah just kidding. You rock though!!! 

Guin – Thanks for the reviews. (By the way, not to sound stupid, but what's a spaner?) 

Crystal113- Thanks, glad you enjoyed it!

Musiqboy – Same to you, glad you liked it and thank you for your review!

In case I missed anyone, Thanks to you – whoever you are! I love all these reviews, I can't say how great you all are! Keep reviewing! 

__


	18. The Dilemma aka 'The Twitch

The world was his oyster. 

Brian had decided this some time ago – he didn't know how long, but it didn't matter anymore, time didn't matter. Anywho, he had simply come to the conclusion that he was never going to wake up. He had been drifting from scene to scene when he had come upon this. He figured that perhaps he was in a dream. Except anytime he wanted he could leave this dream and find himself in someone else's mind – he just couldn't find the way back into his own reality.

But why did it matter anyway? He questioned himself. He could do anything, be anyone. He could do things an Invalid wouldn't even dare to dream of doing. If he did wake up, He'd be in a cell and be sent back to work. Was that really life?

Life to Brian was now one big Google search. He thought of something, someone, an experience, you name it and he could instantly be doing it. 

He didn't try explaining it. Sure, he'd tried. But that only gave him two options. Either he was dead or some sort of mutant. Neither of these was a fact he wished to face.

Right now, Brian was bored though, so he was trying to find out what he could about the camp. Images flashed through his sight and left just as quickly. 

Getting fed up with doing it this way, Brian threw up his hands in frustration as he returned to his default place. When he wasn't living out the lives of others, this is where he existed. It was a white room with a medium sized TV in the center. Several feet away was a comfortable, overstuffed chair. 

Brian let himself flop down in the chair and picked up the TV's remote. He began to flip through the thousands of 'channels'. Each channel was what a person was viewing right then. Bored, He just looked for anything interesting or familiar.

After a few minutes, his pace was beginning to slow and something caught his eye. A beautiful woman with vivid blue skin and a burly, rugged man with wild hair were sitting across the table from him. They were looking over blueprints to a massive building.

From his host's eyes, he could read an upside-down title to the prints. 

BASE ONE – MUTANT CONTAINMENT FACILITY

SOUTHERN ARIZONA

__

'Bingo'. Mentally, Brian grinned. Now if only he could help them.

___________________________________

__

Mystique elbowed Logan. He looked up at her and caught her gaze over to John. Logan froze.

The kid was twitching. At first it was just his eye. Like he was trying to move it and keep it in the same place at once. Then it traveled down to his mouth. First the very corners gave a slight movement then a bit more. Twitch. Twitch.

Mystique had her head cocked slightly over to the side and was staring at her much younger companion. 

"John?" She questioned finally.

The twitching abruptly stopped. John curiously looked back at her. "Yes?" He asked.

Mystique was silent.

__________________________________

"Let me through!" Brian screamed at his host. They were going about it all wrong. That ignorant mountain man and the cocky blue woman were going about this horribly wrong. If only this host wasn't so damn stubborn! 

With a sigh, Brian cursed this ability and slowly drifted back to just watching the unfolding scene.

___________________________________________________

"Mystique, you can be the diversion." John said, his fingers rapidly pointing at places on the enlarged blueprints on the table in front of him. A single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling dimly lit the room. Deep shadows were cast through the room's edges. Logan was halfway through a cigar, the smoke from which added to the dimness of the room.

Mystique eyed first John the Logan. "No," she began. "How about _you _be the diversion, _Pyro. _You're the one they really want."

John glared at her. "They'd be just as happy with either of you," He snapped back indignantly. 

Mystique sat back in her rickety wooden chair and gave a tightlipped smile. "But you're that fire starting terrorist who works for none other than the great Magneto. I, on the other hand," Mystique said, pausing. She morphed a young man in a police uniform. "Could be anyone." She finished with the man's voice. She smirked as she melded back to her natural form.

Logan rolled his eyes as John fumed. Before either of the two rivals continued with another word, he held up his hands for silence. 

"Look, you two can damn well kill each other for all I care. But we have something more important than your little egos so either you shut up or I'm out." Logan declared.

Mystique and John were silent for a moment, exchanging glares between themselves and Logan. 

After a moment, John leaned forward again. He gently bit his lower lip as he studied the map once more. His long dirty blonde hair fell into his focused brown eyes as his fingers traced over printed pathways.

With an intake of breath, John backed away from the map for a moment. "How's this," He began. "I'll be the diversion," He said, shooting a look towards Mystique as he tapped out a spot outside the camp's perimeters. "You two need to get in here," He said, moving his finger over to the control room. "Mystique can disarm the security devices which will make the cells accessible. We're gonna hope they don't have Magneto constantly drugged, because then we're in seriously trouble…But if he is…" John's voice trailed off as he continued to explain his mismatched plan to his sole witnesses. 

____________________________

From the depths of his mind, a sixteen-year-old mutant shook his head. His 'saviors' were a band of ragtag misfits who were about to receive a much needy dose of reality.


	19. The Ties that Bind

"How does lunch in Rome sound?" His voice echoed through the unending silence.

There was a pause before the answer came. "Hmmm, not bad. After that, say we go surfing somewhere around Oahu?"

"Nah, done that already."

"Oh true. We could go to the Grand Canyon again?"

"No."

"Snowboarding in the Alps?"

"Sure. Let's try and pick a different slope this time though."

"Yes, of course."

"You're talking to yourself again."

A sigh. "I am, aren't I? Oh well…"

Brian slowly sat up from his position draped upside down across his chair. He let the remote he'd been clutching drop to the floor with a muffled clatter. He'd been doing it again. Talking to himself, that is. He did it a lot nowadays. 

He didn't know how long he'd been like this. Been here, in this void, that is. Heck, he didn't even know how long he'd been out. _Maybe he really wasn't unconscious._ This revelation struck him as shocking and surprisingly clear. Perhaps everything he remembered that he thought was real was just a memory stolen from someone else….

"Stop it!" He screamed to himself. He could debate and think about it until he curled up and died and he would probably still not know. 

Oh how he longed to talk to a real living person again. Or to really move, to go beyond these walls that held him and to do what he pleased, not just to be a witness to the pleasures of others. Brian Tandon wanted to be _free_.

But alas, he was not free. He was a prisoner in the depths of his own mind. 

"So what should we do today?"

"I don't know. What did you have in mind?…"

_____________________________________________________________

Eric Magnus Lehnsherr drummed his fingers against the walls of his plastic prison. This new containment cell wasn't nearly as large as his former cell years ago – the one that had held him directly after the failed operation on Liberty Island. He sighed.

The great Magneto sat bound to a plastic version of a dentist's chair looking thing. His wrists, ankles, and thighs were bound to the chair with thick, molded straps that were unable to move even the slightest. 

Had he not been in this position, Eric probably would never have felt the slight mental nudge. It was something Charles had taught him to identify years ago. He couldn't prevent the intrusion, not with out his helmet.

He chuckled though. "Digging around again, eh Charles?" He said aloud in a dry whisper. His throat was parched and hoarse. 

The presence promptly left. Eric let out another soft chuckle.

He closed his eyes and deeply inhaled then let out his breath slowly. As he opened his eyes, he slowly turned his left arm so the underside faced upwards. His eyes drifted over the blurred and somewhat faded blue numbers then lowered his eyes another inch. A new, sharp copy of the numbers had been reprinted when he came here.

He had sworn he would never go back to Auschwitz. He would never go through that again. Yet here he was.

Different place, different time. The first time, he had been reborn – given these amazing gifts through the pain and suffering. He feared this time the road of pain and suffering would end in the crematory.

Magneto sighed and closed his eyes.

___________________________________________________

"Your saying we knew this all the time?" Elanovich's superior officer, a Dr. Alan G. Harper inquired angrily. Between the two lay the open file of the Mutant formerly known as IV-40225-6.

Elanovich remarkably remembered the boy. With the hundreds of patients he saw, this fact partly surprised him. But yes, he remembered the boy quite well. Sun bleached pale brown hair, a bit tall, overall fairly average. What was his name? Elanovich struggled to remember. Brett? Bobby? Brian! Yes, that was it, Brian. 

"We knew this?" Alan Harper repeated; his temper was rising. "How many other InVies out there could be in this same condition then?"

Elanovich turned his drifting attention back to his red-faced superior. He nodded slowly with caution. "Actually," He began, shuffling through a separate stack of papers. "My assistant first suspected this. These are the Mutant's mental records from the last year, since we began the routine tests. As you can see," Elanovich said, trailing off to point out the staccato yet steadily uprising line on the graph. "There is an obvious increase in the mutants mental activity."

"So what are you saying?" Harper questioned.

"Yes, we could have prevented it. The test didn't necessarily mean he was a mutant though." Elanovich attempted to defend himself.

"Your assistant recognized it. You seem to have brushed it aside, Elanovich."

"My assistant also accused several dozen others of being mutants in a mere few days." Elanovich snapped back indignantly.

"Where is your assistant? I have a few questions I would like to ask them." Harper declared standing up to leave.

Elanovich looked up at the taller man from over his metal-framed glasses. He slowly stood up to join the other Doctor. 

"Vivian Tseng is no longer with us." He said coldly.

"Oh?"

"She proved to be…. More of a problem than we bargained for." Elanovich said slowly and carefully.

"Well then do you know how I could reach her?"

Elanovich shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sir. Perhaps if you contacted one of the other departments. They might have some information on her whereabouts." With that, Elanovich walked across the room to the front door and held it open for his unwelcome guest.

____________________________________________

Turned out, Brian and himself decided to skip the Roman lunch and browse around the base for a while. He was curious to see if he could find anything useful. Perhaps eventually he could signal someone outside with the information, like that group up in Canada. That is, if they ever ceased in their bickering. Over the last few weeks he had been occasionally dropping in for a silent little visit and that's all they ever seemed to do – argue, argue, argue.

Absently, Brian hummed to himself as he began to flip through the channels on his television set. He often wondered why it was like this, why he could browse through scenes in such a way. Quickly, he brushed this thought away. He didn't dare ask questions about the reasons 'why' anymore.

He saw the walls of the Doctor's office flash by, the darkened halls of some unknown bunker, a room filled wall to wall with state of the art computers, a weapons cache, his name and number stenciled on a steel door, a group of guards strolling to some unknown location outside, and…..Wait! He had seen his name?

Brian quickly reversed his search till he saw the door again. He squinted at the screen and it was clear the door bore his name. 'Tandon, Brian' was stenciled on the door in bold black lettering, with a smaller print of his number and several more numbers directly below. A hand came into view, long thin fingers hitting buttons on the door's security lock. Brian took this chance to fully enter into the person. His room faded away as the Television's image engulfed everything. Within seconds, he was completely seeing and feeling everything his host was.

He caught a glimpse of his host's reflection in the smudge free stainless steel door as they waited to enter the cell. His host a petite woman dressed like a doctor. She looked to be possibly East Indian, but he wasn't sure. She was carrying a tray of something, but he was unsure of what it was. Before he could look any further, the door slid open with the quiet hiss of decompressing air and she walked in. 

Immediately, Brian noticed the cell's unusual appearance.

It was several feet bigger than his former cell, and as they entered he noticed the walls were exceptionally thick. Up against the wall on the right was an elevated table, like the type used by doctors and such. Upon that table lay his body. It was just as he had last left it, except he was missing his stained, tattered T-shirt. Still though, in the back of his mind he noted he would miss that when he awoke. But with the missing shirt, he could see dozens of electrodes taped on to his chest and arms, with even more on his neck and head. The multi-colored wires from the electrodes all led back to a small processing unit attached to a computer system of some sort. 

His body walked over to the computer and their long fingers began rapidly typing into the attached keyboard to access the patient's file. Once they entered it, she began to enter a series of numbers and codes then closed the electronic file as quickly as she had opened it. She then turned to the tray she had set down on a self underneath the computer and withdrew a clipboard. She began with reading the patient's file. As she did this, Brian did as well and was shocked with what he read.

__

July 12, 2008.

Patient ID: IV-40225-6 (Tandon, Brian)

Mutant ID: Mutant 40225

Notice:

40225 experienced mutation at approximately 5:17 PM July 11, 2007. Mutation is unknown at this point. Believed to be a telepathic ability, not physical. 40225 is to be kept sedated at all times and is scheduled to be put on Serum 128 as soon as possible. For further details, see page 22B of this file or contact Dr. Elanovich of the 'B-Block'.

His host flipped through the folder to the continuation of the document.

__

May 3, 2009.

Mutant 40225 has, upon extensive study, been found of showing early signs of mutation. These signs went unnoticed by Doctors Elanovich and Tseng. As of date they are currently under investigation by the Federal Government.

His host browsed down the text until She came to a paragraph towards the end.

__

... 40225 has been assumed to have a telepathic mutation. Our experts believe it has the ability to project his consciousness to wherever he wishes. A full examination is at this point prohibited, as there are direct orders for the mutant to be kept heavily sedated. It is believed its power ranges much further beyond this but we are confident these will remain dormant until 40225 is taken off medication.

40225 is to be given 2.5 grams of...

His host stopped reading. She quickly skimmed over the doses of medication, which had meant nothing to him, then had abruptly closed the file. Her gaze drifted back up to his unconscious body then back down to the multiple full syringes resting on the tray. Again, she looked back up at him, then gazed quickly around the room. She bit her lip as she looked around and then back down at the tray. She sighed deeply and rubbed her forehead before getting up to leave. She picked up the still full tray and whispered a quiet 'Good luck' as she waited for the door to reopen so she could leave. 

Brian was stunned as he witnessed this. Did this mean he was going to wake up? Could he even do that anymore? It sounded like the medication was what was preventing him from doing so, not his being lost or trapped. How long would it take? How long? The question repeated itself over and over again as he remained in the young nurse's mind. He had completely forgotten he had planned to check up on the Canadian group.

How long until he woke up? That was all Brian could consider.

___________________________________________________________________

"I got it," John said as he loudly flipped his cell phone shut while striding confidently into the group's makeshift planning room. Mystique and Logan glanced up from their positions draped around various places in the room. Logan rolled his eyes before taking another swig of his beer.

Growing irritated, John took a few steps closer to the two. "Perhaps you didn't hear me." He began, his voice stressed. "I just got Mos Etta to fully join with us."

To this Mystique looked up. "Impressive. How long?" She said shortly. 

John looked down at his watch. "As of about four hours ago. They already had one of theirs infiltrating the base. They promised some assistance while they had their girl in."

Mystique nodded. "When will we know?"

John shrugged. "Soon, I guess." With that he turned to the fridge and withdrew a beer. He moved to sit down in the faded and torn armchair they had retrieved a few weeks prior. He opened the top and was about to take a sip when Logan's head snapped up. 

"Hey, kid," He began in protest.

John gave an annoyed look. "Logan, I'm 22, I think I'm legal." He snapped before taking a long drink.

"What's eating you?" Logan said with a hint of sarcasm as John hurriedly consumed the beverage.

"I just spent the last two weeks trying to negotiate with a band of Middle Eastern fricking mutant terrorists. I finally talk them into helping us and what thanks do I get?" John demanded as he stood and began gesturing madly with his arms.

Then, John just stopped. He was frozen in place, just staring blindly. The abrupt silence caught the attention of both the ageless adults as they stared. Moments later, John slowly blinked. He took in a deep breath and then a few more rapid blinks followed. Slowly and cautiously he moved his hand a few inches. His eyes were transfixed on the motion. Then suddenly he gave a victorious shout.

"John?" 

His head snapped back to the to on the couch. His face broke out in an unnaturally oversized grin. 

"I did it." He whispered in awe.

____________________________________________________________________________

A/N: Just wanted to say another big thanks to you all who review! Y'all are the absolute best! And all you reading and not reviewing, you know who you are…your still okay, but you should review ;)


	20. The Meeting

"I did it." Brian repeated in awe.

To this solitary statement, Logan raised his eyebrow. He put down his bottle of beer and slowly stood up. "John?" He questioned as he slowly approached the boy.

Brian's eyes widened when Logan grabbed him firmly around the shoulders. 'I told ya not to drink," Logan began, a bit distracted by John's suddenly facial twitching.

The twitching suddenly stopped as Brian gave a shout for Logan to wait. Logan did as was requested, pausing to look expectantly at John.

"I...I'm not sure how to say this, but I don't know how much time I have here so I'll just say it flat out. I'm not John." Brian said in a rush, pausing momentarily to let this information sink in. 

Unfortunately, Logan did not do this as he had planned. Instead of welcoming his declaration, Logan gripped his shoulders a bit tighter and began to drag him out of the room, muttering things under his breath. 

"No! Stop!" Brian shouted. Twitch. This time the twitches grew progressively worse, making their way down to his hands and mildly down to his feet. They were almost becoming seizures.

John's shaking made Logan stop in his removing of the boy; and as soon as Logan stopped dragging him, Brian's twitching ceased.

"I'm sure that didn't sound right, but you have to listen to me! I'm not John, my name is Brian – " Logan's hand clamped down over John's mouth, interrupting him mid-phrase. Panicked, and clearly not thinking right, Brian then proceeded to bite Logan's hand. Later on, he would think back on this and most likely be rather mortified, but right now drastic times called for drastic measures. Logan snapped his hand back, curses flying from his lips. This sudden release of his body caused Brian to promptly drop down to the hardwood floor. 

Brian quickly glanced up at Logan and said a quick apology while Logan glared from above.

Brian took this opportunity to continue where he left off. "—I'm a mutant, in…in Base One. I've been…watching you three. I want to help." Brian spilled out between cautious upward glances to the glowering form of the Wolverine.

At this point, Mystique got up from her position across the room, draped gracefully over one of their worn chairs. Slowly walked over with no hurry, all the while giving Brian the once-over. Finally, she paused with her arms folded impatiently directly between Logan and Brian. Her gaze was down turned though, yellow eyes focused on Brian.

"How?" She questioned simply.

Brian stared at her. He actually hadn't considered it, he had been more afraid of Logan turning him to pulp prior to this point. "I...I…" He trailed off, at a loss for words.

Mystique gave what appeared to be a smirk or quite possibly a sneer and her gaze shifted to Logan. "It's not John." She said, backing away.

As she took a few steps away from them, instead of helping Brian up, Logan merely stared down at him. Brian rolled his eyes and moved to get up. He pulled himself into a sitting position when suddenly he realized h couldn't feel his arms anymore. For that matter, he couldn't move them at all either. Looking down in confusion, he could see his fingertips quivering uncontrollably. In panic, he looked quickly back up at Logan and Mystique. "I'll try and get back." He said in a rush as the feeling of numbness spread down his legs. 'Maybe suggest to John that he could be a bit more cooperative next time," He said with a grin as he closed his eyes.

From above, the two older mutants watched as John wriggled and shook down on the floor, his eyes closed tightly and his fists clenched equally as tight. Abruptly, the seizures stopped. John's body relaxed and his eyes opened. With a groan, John sat up and opened his eyes. He glanced up to find two pairs of eyes intently staring at him. His body hurt like hell. 

"What the heck happened?" He asked finally, breaking the silence.

________________________________________________________

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

________________________________________________________

"You're sure about this, Rez?" Sadira questioned as she fell into step besides her older brother. 

Reza paused, and looked down at her from behind his dark mirrored sunglasses. "Am I ever wrong?" He asked with a smile before continuing to walk. Behind them trailed two discreet but large bodyguards.

Sadira cast a sideways look around the airport terminal. They had just gotten off their nearly thirteen hour flight from Amsterdam and were now searching for the rest of their party through Vancouver's ___________ International Airport. The key members of Mos Etta had long ago made it a habit to travel separately, for security reasons.

They were responsible for nearly a hundred separate privately funded 'terrorist' acts. Their services were in growing demand and went out to the highest bidder. This call was a personal matter though. The treatment of mutants in the United States was making it harder and harder to pull off even the simpler hit jobs nowadays. When they had received a call from a small mutant group in Canada, most of their group's members had been wary. But their leader, the young Reza Khoumani, had convinced them they would profit in the long run. 

"There they are," His sister said with a slight nudge. He brought his dark sunglasses down a bit and saw the remaining members of the group scattered around the terminal. He gave a single nod then began walking towards the baggage claim. 

Standing at a solid six foot one, Reza Khoumani was the type of guy who could both stand out from a crowd or just as easily blend in. Classic features, nicely tanned skin- all these were traits of the group's leader. 

Not many of his group knew the true nature of his mutation. Some had originally believed him to be a prophet, others a sorcerer. In truth though, the mastermind that was Mr. Khoumani was merely an illusion. Well, most of the time. Reza had been blessed with the ability to create lifelike projections of whatever he wished. It was ideal for security reasons. If he wanted, there could be twenty identical copies of himself roaming around the crowded terminal and there would be virtually no way to distinguish the holographic versions from the real thing.

Of course, one cannot raise a small empire with just the power of trickery, now can they? Early on, when their father had passed away, Reza had begun to set up officials and recruit members for his revenge. Somewhere along the line though, revenge had died, and now the moneymaking aspect of the business kept him in it.

But recently, with the trouble this cursed genetic screening had caused his business, Reza had grown concerned. He also knew he wasn't getting any younger. At the ripe age of twenty-seven, Reza was beginning to feel like an old man as of late. Perhaps it was from one too many late nights around the planning tables, or he had had enough worry sending his friends and family in to arrange business deals. And speaking of deals, there was another reason to come here. That bastard McIntosh had cheated them out of 2.5 million dollars and three of his top men with the little shenanigan he had requested nearly two years ago. He or the families of the officers he had lost did not forget things like these. 

His bodyguards motioned that they were going to retrieve his luggage from the revolving carousel upon which the offloaded bags sat. He nodded in silent recognition of their movement and immediately, there were three other identical copies of Reza Khoumani, all making their way towards the doors that led outdoors. 

____________________________________________________

As they stepped outside, Sadira gave a sideways glance towards her brother. Though he was only a mere eight years older than she was, sometimes it felt like millennia. Behind the high-end shades and designer suit worthy to have just come of a Milan runway, Sadira remembered the weak, struggling boy from years ago. But the boy of those memories had long ago left, having been replaced with this enigma. 

She stepped off onto the crowded sidewalk. People were vying for taxis here and there, welcoming loved ones, and busy loading and offloading. Bright beams of sunlight bathed the chaotic scene.

She felt someone brush her arm and looked over to find another member of their group, Amir.

Amir had a story similar to her brother's. His mutation though, was much more interesting. Amir literally grew chemical weapons. Now of course, that was like accusing a poisonous fish of trying to become a mass murderer. Actually, she thought, it would be more like a snake. This poison of Amir's was held in two long, thin retractable fangs in the very front of his mouth- Very similar of those of a biting snake, such as the cobra or the North American native, the rattlesnake.

In appearance though, Amir had everything her own brother lacked, and vice versa. Where Reza had the sort of natural confidence and class many strivved for, Amir was often anxious, nervous, and was lacking in confidence. Physically he was a good two inches shorter than Rez, his skin a sickly pale color from living underground. 

Currently, he seemed to be struggling a bit with his bulky suitcase, no doubt filled with the many bottles of antidote he took everywhere with him. She flashed a smile at him. Her and Amir shared a unique bond within the group. They were the two youngest members, though not by a whole lot, it was still enough to cause a small rift. So she tried to look out for the kid.

Suddenly from deep within the crowd of people sprung Reza. Behind him stood his two guards, each carrying the oversized cases the group used for concealing weapons. Reza stepped forward onto the curb and was quickly successful in hailing a taxi. They loaded their belongings into the taxi, and the bodyguards stayed behind with Reza. Or perhaps it was the replica that rode with them. 

Sadira sighed. She'd stopped trying to second-guess her brother long ago. As she slid into the musty smelling cab she gave a sad smile to Amir. "You ready?" She questioned.

He managed a weak grin. "You bet," He said in a not too convincing manner.

"Don't worry," She whispered. She had seen the future and knew all too well the events that were coming and how they were about to play out.

_______________________________________________

"So you're saying I'm _possessed_?" John demanded. The three of them were sitting around the shabby card table that sat near the kitchen. Mystique and Logan had finished explaining to John what had happened over the last hour.

"So what exactly did I say?" John questioned, having already forgotten asking the first question.

Logan sighed. "You said you were some mutant down in the camp," He stated.

John's eyebrows furred. After a second or so of deep consideration, his eyes brightened.

"Maybe it was them…," He said, mainly to himself, as he trailed off.

"Them?" Mystique asked.

"Mos Etta."

"Oh."

John sat up in his chair, "What time is it?" He demanded.

Both Logan and mystique shrugged, almost in unison. With a stricken look, John hastily bolted up, knocking his chair over as he hurried to catch a glimpse of the time. When he did finally discover the kitchen clock, a loud gasp could be heard, followed by a string of profanities.

Moments later, John came bolting back in, his chocolate brown eyes huge. "Their plane landed almost an hour ago!" He hissed before running off.

"Mos Etta?" Logan questioned Mystique, who remained motionless. 

As if perfectly timed, the doorbell rang. Before John could do anything, Logan was up and at the door. What he found was not exactly what he expected.


	21. The Âzâd Farq

**__**

A/n: Thanks guys for all the great reviews! 

Crystal113- I considered your review and finally realized that's why the name sounded so oddly familiar to me! Anyways, I'm sure you'll be happy to know I kind of inadvertently changed it. The new name as you will see is Âzâd Farq. The translation of that is 'Free Difference'. (Or at least, I believe it is. Anyone out there who speaks Farsi, feel free to correct me!)

Anyways, a big thanks again for all the reviews! Y'all rock! On with the story!!!!

______________________________________________________________________________

Logan blinked at the sight before him. There stood a solitary younger man, dressed to a tee in designer clothing. Nicely tanned skin, dark hair. Chiseled features. Not exactly the type of person usually to be found in the near deserted neighborhood of their inner city apartment. Suspicious, Logan looked then unmoving man up and down slowly. He didn't seem armed, or any threat at all. 

Finally, Logan spoke. "Can I help ya, bub?" He said in a near grunt. 

The visitor's formerly frozen stone face broke into a grin. "I am looking for a…. Pyro?" He questioned with a faint accent.

With another intense look, Logan slowly turned and called for John. Moments later, John came impatiently over, mumbling about wasting his time. When he saw past Logan's shoulder to the visitor, his jaw dropped slightly. 

"Mr. Khoumani!" John stuttered, pushing his way past Logan to shake the man's hand. Logan, feeling a bit lost and also miffed by being pushed aside simply stared through John's eager self-introduction. Of course, Logan's feelings went entirely unnoticed by John as he ushered this Khoumani fellow into the apartment. 

As John excitedly droned on and on, Logan remained at the open door, watching how the two interacted. The visitor seemed to be ignoring John immensely and was instead surveying the apartment. He took a few steps away from John, trying to catch a clear vie of the hall. When John finally noticed he was not holding his guest's attention, he paused. He watched Khoumani for a moment before asking what he was doing. Khoumani was silent, just giving a single nod. He straightened up, clapped his hands loudly and disappeared. 

John's eyes widened as he gaped at the spot Khoumani had vanished and was dimly aware of Logan's swearing from behind. 

"I am sorry for my diversion," A voice called from outside the door. Both Logan and John turned in near unison to see the owner of the voice. It was Khoumani, a trace of a smirk on his face. Behind him stood two burly bodyguards and two older teens behind them. 

Khoumani walked casually in. "Unfortunately, before I enter a building, I like to check it out first," He said with a smile. He turned to John. "Where can my assistants store their equipment?" He asked.

John blinked, obviously thrown off by the prior experience. "Um, anywhere. There are several empty room down the hall." He said, gesturing towards the bare hallway. Khoumani turned and rattled off a few words in what Logan assumed to be Arabic t his guards. They promptly went down the hall, leaving only Khoumani and the teens.

"May we sit down?" Khoumani asked, gesturing smoothly towards the makeshift living room.

"Yes, of course!" John said, leading them in.

As the five of them sat down, Khoumani introduced himself as Reza and introduced the two younger members of his party as his sister and Amir Mohammed Al-Shaiq. At hearing the sound of his name, Amir seemed to wince. 

"So, shall we?" Khoumani began.

John looked at him confused.

Khoumani gave a small laugh and shook his head. "Shall we begin?" He rephrased.

As John realized what the man had meant, an embarrassed look crossed his face. He rapidly nodded as his face turned a pale red.

Khoumani withdrew a dark leather briefcase seemingly out of nowhere. From within, he withdrew several legal documents.

"I will be needing your signature. For legal reasons," Khoumani casually stated, placing the paper and a pen on the coffee table between the two sides and sliding it towards John. 

As John picked it up, his eyes grazed over the top to look at Khoumani. "I thought you ran an illegal organization." He said with a slight trace of sarcasm in his voice.

Khoumani blinked. "Yes, but it is for our records." He amended. At that, John signed and handed the paper and pen back. 

Khoumani smiled, and filed the paper back into his briefcase. "As you may have noticed," He began, "The document you just signed was part of a non-disclosure agreement. Whatever we say or do, you are obliged to keep to yourselves. This goes for you too," Khoumani said with a nod in Logan's direction.

Logan rolled his eyes. "How about you just cut the crap," He said, leaning in closer. "Let's do this and get the damn deal over with so I can get out of here." Logan said through his clenched teeth.

Khoumani glanced at Logan then John, noting the distance and unrest between them. "Of course," He said.

"As I am sure you are aware, the title 'Mos Etta' is a front for the really deep shit we do," Khoumani stated. 

John exchanged a quick, confused look with Logan. 

"Apparently not." Khoumani said with what sounded like a sigh. "I will make this short so we can get back to business," He said with a glance towards Logan, who snorted.

"Mos Etta is a front used for typical black market type of arrangements."

"Arrangements?"

"You need a hit man? We will find you one. Or if you need a shipment of something here or there safely, we can arrange that. Pretty much anything of those sorts. I use mainly humans for this, the occasional weaker mutant. But, for those serious customers, then they require the services of Âzâd Farq. Âzâd Farq is composed of my best men; and we are responsible for the dirty work. Perhaps you remember that big attack with LA, Las Vegas, and of course New York City…." Khoumani trailed off.

"I had heard that, just not the name," John admitted.

"Most people haven't." Khoumani coldly replied. "But anyway, we have arrangements to make and projects to plan." He leaned over and withdrew several folded up maps from his briefcase. He took his time unfolding them and laying them out on the table. The maps were aerial shots of the camp and the surrounding area.

"We enter from here," He said, making a bold check mark on the map with a thick blue marker. "We need a diversion to come through here, perhaps here as well," He stated making two more marks on the map on opposite sides of the camp.

Suddenly, John began to twitch. This went unnoticed until Khoumani looked up. Concern crossed his face as he asked Logan if that was normal. Logan looked over and cursed. The four of them stared as John's body was racked with convulsions, which stopped suddenly a minute later. John blinked then gave a smile, uncomfortable smile. He turned to Logan and flashed a bigger grin.

"Told you I'd be back," came the feeble explanation from John's mouth. Logan sighed and placed his forehead in his hands.

Confused, Khoumani asked for 'someone to please explain the situation.'

John's mouth opened to do so, but Logan interrupted him. "We seem to have picked up a little stalker," He said with an annoyed sneer towards John. "This is Brian." He stated, gesturing over to John's body.

Khoumani stared at them blankly. 

"Look, It's some kid down at the camp who can enter into other people's heads and take control. Apparently he's grown attached John's body." Logan stated.

Khoumani looked thoughtful. "You can enter _anyone_?" He asked.

Brian shrugged. 

Khoumani stroked his chin. "Enter him," He commanded, pointing to Amir.

Brian nodded, deciding to give it a try. Amir gave a panicked look before he gave a slight quivering. Then, he sat up straighter and blinked a few times. 

"Okay," He said. At this point, John had fully taken control back over his body. "What the hell?" He demanded, but was silence by a sharp nudge from Logan. 

"Why didn't you shake like with him?" Khoumani asked, gesturing over to where John sat.

Brian shrugged. "This one seemed open to it, compared to John, who subconsciously fights me."

Khoumani smiled. "This may call for a change of plans." He declared, turning back to the spread out maps. He made a few markings, then turned to Amir's body. "Could you…?" He began to question, but Amir stopped him.

"He's gone," Amir said quietly.

Khoumani bit his lip. He withdrew a foreign cell phone from his jacket pocket. As he began dialing, John asked him what he was doing.

Khoumani looked up at John. "I am calling my teleporter. We do this now."


	22. The Escape

It was like coming back up from a long, underwater dive. Slowly, as he rose up, the blackness began to fade, and his senses returned. He inhaled a deep breath and slowly breathed out. His eyes opened to the sight of a steel covered ceiling. A deep moan escaped his lips as he rolled over.

Wait….

…He sat up, as sharp pains traveled down his spine. But that was just it, he was controlling it. He held up his hands and examined them. Had he learned to subconsciously enter other people and gain control of them?

His question was answered instantaneously when he saw his reflection in the wall across from him. He stared at his familiar face, and delicately touched it with his fingers. His eyes stung, and his body ached, but nonetheless, Brian hoisted himself off the cell's table. His knees took the impact hard and he collapsed onto the shiny floor. His fall caused the tiny attached monitoring devices to fall off, causing a flashing protest from the computer. This went unnoticed by Brian though as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. His mind was wandering, and he found it difficult to focus. Moving was an entire different matter. He eventually settled on just sitting still for a while, and he stared at the wall. How long had it been since he had been physically awake? Either he was still really drugged up or it had been way too long. He felt overly weak, and he was willing to be it was due to muscle deterioration. Now, he could admit that he wasn't a doctor but….

…What had he been saying? Brian blinked a few times and it was clear that he had forgotten. Frustrated, he let out a deep sigh. 

Sometime later, his mind's wandering was interrupted by the low hiss of the door opening. Brian struggled to get back to his feet, but was met with little success as he tumbled once again in to a heap on the floor. As the door slowly opened, letting in a burst of hot air, it also let in a semi-familiar face. 

It was the nurse who had skipped out on giving him his medications, and as he tried to recollect his memories, Brian placed her as being in Vancouver, only moments prior. 

She came in and knelt down next to him. Brian looked past her shoulder and saw a skittish looking African man. He appeared to be in his late thirties, maybe even forties. He was dressed in a very typical outfit for a casual businessman of his age. He waited at the door, glancing down the hall in both directions every few seconds. 

'C'mon," The woman said, half pulling him up and dragging him to the door. Once there, the African took a solid hold of the both of them and everything went dark. 

___________________________________________________________________

John stood up, looking angered. "What the hell do you mean, 'We do this now'?" He demanded.

Reza looked up at him from where he still sat on the couch, phone in hand. His dark brown, nearly black eyes remained focused on John as he slowly stood. He towered over John by a good three inches. 

"We have to do this now. That wasn't the only prisoner Sadira freed, I will bet you. They will awaken soon and then the guards will think something is up." Khoumani stated evenly.

John, though, was not satisfied with such a passive answer. "Then why did you have her do it? Why not wait?" He demanded, face rising closer to Reza's in what was supposed to be an intimidating manner.

"She told me to. We ran through the options and this was in the end more profitable than the other options. As how we decided to help you."

"You can create a strategy for things like that. Uncontrolled variables, idiot." John shot back.

To this childish remark, Reza only smiled. "Its too late Pyro. We're in this, me and you. I know what we're doing and you can only screw it up. So from now on, either listen to me or get the hell out of this operation." 

At this, John took a step back, a look of near shock on his face. He surveyed the room. Logan sat smirking behind him with his legs crossed and arms spread cockily. On the opposite side of Logan, the pale kid, Amir sat cowering into the couch. That was it? No, they were missing someone. John took another look around the room and realized they weren't missing only one person.

Sadira. Mystique. The two bodyguards. All were gone. Something was up.

_________________________________________

Suddenly, Brian could see again. The bulky African man, who held Sadira under his opposite arm, was holding him up. Feeling threatened, Brian struggled to free himself from the man's grip. The man promptly dropped him to the cold cement floor. As he pushed himself up, he was overcome by motion sickness. He leaned over and threw up on to the floor.

At this point, Sadira was slowly standing up, with the man's assistance. She looked down at Brian on the ground and gave small smirk. She bent down and helped him up, and with the help of the older man, made him stand. 

As Brian blinked, the world became clear again. The first thing out of his mouth was asking what had happened.

Sadira didn't seem to pay any attention to him, she was looking down the hall in both directions. As she did this, Brian looked around as well. They were in a dark, windowless hall. The hall was made of cement, and had many leaks and water stains to go with. 

Finally, she turned around and quickly told him Jamal was a teleporter. As she said this, she made several waving gestures towards the man, Jamal, with her hands. He looked over at her, but kept his distance. They exchanged a look and then began walking. 

Brian ran to catch up with them.

"So that's it? We're done?" He demanded.

Sadira snorted and kept on walking at her fast pace.

With a frustrated sigh, Brian ran up to catch her again. "Seriously. I want to go back home. How…what do I have to do to leave?" He demanded. 

She sun around, eyes fierce. She grabbed tightly onto his arm, her nails digging into his skin. He teeth were clenched, and her breath was short and tight.

"They are going to die, Brian." Came hissing out at him. "Every last one of them." Followed between short gasps for air.

Brian looked as if he had been hit in the something. "What do you mean?" He managed to ask.

She stared at him long and hard with her large, dark eyes. "Brian," She began. "I know the future. Why else do you think my brother would allow me to help him? I can see what happens then I can know what to do to change it."

Brian was silent, his eyes shifting around the barren hall.

Her grip tightened, causing his focus to snap back to her. "They are all going to die." She repeated her voice hollow. 

From behind them, Jamal stood, arms folded across his chest. He was waiting for something.

"Just listen to me. I. We. You. You can stop it, Brian. You can listen to me and we can save them. Or we can stay here and wait for them to come a gun us down. What do you want to do?"

Brian paused. Her grip around his upper arms remained strong, the African remained several feet away. Waiting. His heart was racing. He could hear footsteps. The sound of faraway voices, growing steadily louder, all eyes focusing on him. Thump, Thump. His heartbeat seemed to be the only sound through the silence. 

He opened his mouth to give his answer.

Then gunfire broke out.


	23. The Interlude: Part Two

Within a darkened lab, a lone scientist stood alone, hovering over his latest experiment. A grouping of gel electropheis trays were laid out in front of him, and all were showing the same image.

By God, had he done it? It sure looked that way. He had actually found it. No, no, it wasn't possible. When the pulled his funding, that's what they told him. He was a madman, insane to even attempt it; they had all said.

Oh but now, this lone, shaking scientist had in fact done it. Alexander P. Shaw had done it. He had created the ultimate control device.

His hands still shaking, he numbly walked over to his old-fashioned black landline phone. Automatically he dialed the number he knew all too well.

The other end rang once. Twice. It was halfway through the third ring when it was picked up. "Hello?" One of the secretaries asked.

"This…This is Dr. Shaw." He stuttered.

The secretary paused. "Did you do it?" She whispered.

In his state of shock, Alexander nodded his response.

"Dr. Shaw?" The secretary questioned after the moment of no audible response.

"Yes, I did." He stated, praying that somehow he hadn't made any mistakes.

"I'll tell the President, Sir. I'm sure he's going to be very pleased with this." The secretary said before hanging up.

_____________________________________________________________________

"Sir!" a female voice called from behind him. McIntosh turned around, and waited expectantly as a young, raven haired secretary came running towards him, carrying a piece of paper. When she reached him, she handed it to him. "It's an emergency, Sir." She said between breaths.

McIntosh nodded thanks, and excused the secretary with a wave of his hand. Curious, he looked over the paper she had handed him. It was a computer print out, made up of a series of codes and abbreviations. His eyes scanned through the miscellaneous text until he spied what he was looking for. Deeply encoded in the second half of the sheet was a short statement. 

__

'SER128 … FIN…SHAW…LAB…SHIPPED…'

The corners of McIntosh's mouth curled into a smile as he turned around and headed back towards his office.

________________________________

Once in his office, McIntosh immediately withdrew his cell phone. He had slowly learned that even the walls had ears around the White House. There was surely a plenty underling willing to plant a bug, or listen from a distance, that was for sure. This is why he had his office checked for bugs to or three times daily. You could never be too careful.

He waited with much impatience as the phone on the other end rang once. Twice. Then finally, someone answered. 

The anxious voice of the familiar Dr. Shaw quickly asked who was calling. 

"It's me, Alex," McIntosh said with trace of sarcasm. "Who else ever calls you?" HE added.

Shaw ignored his associates comment. "Sir, It's ready. I had it shipped over to Base One hours ago. They can begin test…" He was cut off by the yelling of McIntosh.

"No! No, testing!" 

"But, Sir!" Shaw protested.

"Don't 'But sir', me, you incompetent fool! You will receive you payment by the morning. Good day, Dr. Shaw." McIntosh snapped with a quiet fury before hanging up. Things were going perfectly. He would announce this new development during that evening's newscast.

________________________________________________

"How much of this stuff is it supposed to get?" One of the caregivers questioned his partner. His partner shrugged. 

This first man carefully examined the label on the bottle. It didn't say. "Tommy, Look," He said pointing to the label. "This stuff is marked for experimental use only, not actual this."

His partner, Tommy, waved his hand. "We got direct orders from the big Mac himself to use it. Said there was some mistake by the bottling company." With that, he took the bottle from his partner's hand and withdrew a syringe from the pushcart. He filled it up all the way, then leaned over the patient and drove the syringe down into a vein. He made sure to get every drop into the prisoner's blood stream, then backed away.

"C'mon, we got another few hundred of these to do," He said, replacing all their materials on to the pushcart. 

"Okay," came the reply, as the man gave on last look at the patient who lay unconscious and bound down to the table. He then left, letting the heavy door swing shut on it's own.

Several minutes later, when the silence and near darkness had returned to the room, something changed.

The constant pulsing beat of the heart monitor began to speed up, and the neon green line project on the screen became irregular in its movements until finally, with one last quick spurt, the line died. With a flat beep, the line went straight as the low beep continued. The computer flashed a warning, but unfortunately, no one was there to see.

Outside, the merry couple continued to make their rounds dispersing the miracle Serum 128.


	24. The Reunion

Time seemed to slow as Brian turned down the hall. Several guards clothed like SWAT members were firing at them. He turned back to Sadira and Jamal as he threw himself on the ground. As he did, he felt Jamal roughly grab on to his wrist. Brian tightly closed his eyes, and the blasts from the gunfire echoed and sparked as they disappeared.

When Brian opened his eyes again, they were all three spread out across a sandy dune. It looked like they weren't too far away from the camp, but he couldn't be sure. He saw Jamal and Sadira already sitting up, and he carefully pushed himself up too. His body still felt extremely weak, but at least he could move a little now. 

_________________________________________________________________________

"Ok, let's do this." Sadira said. "We need to take this down from the top." She said, pausing.

"Wait!" Brian said in protest. "There's something I want to do first."

"Brian, we don't have enough time!" Sadira hissed.

"Please. It will only take me five minutes." Brian pleaded. 

"Fine…Go and come back as soon as you can." She said with a waving gesture.

Brian looked between her and Jamal. "I want to do this in person," He said slowly.

"What?! Why?" Sadira demanded.

Jamal raised his hands. "I will take him. Five minutes." He said with his heavy accent.

"Oh alright." Sadira said, leaning back on to the dusty ground. "Just try and hurry, please." She said.

Brian smiled and in a flash, they were gone.

__________________________________________________________________

Brian struggled to remain standing as Jamal gripped his shoulder. He took in a deep breath as he looked around. He knew he didn't have much time, but these precious few moments meant the world to him. 

The two stood on the walk up to his house. Neither of his parent's cars was in the driveway, but he could see a light on in the house. This was unusual for late afternoon. Brian began walking towards the front and stopped to look in the window closest to him. 

What he saw made him freeze. Directly under the window, in perfect view of him, sat a little boy playing loudly with a toy machine of sorts. As Brian squinted in to get a better view, his mother walked into the living room. She wore a smile much larger and much more sincere than he had seen in years. As she approached, the small child reached out his arms to her a gave a gleeful shout for 'Mommy!' Brian gasped.

He watched silently as his Mother reached down and scooped the child up off the cream colored carpet. 

The sound of a car pulling up mad Brian dodge out of the way, hidden in the shadows behind the oversized flower pots that sat decoratively in front of his former home. He watched as a silver SUV pulled up, and a forty-something man walked out jovially clad in a navy blue suit. He loosened his tie as he walked, and walked right in the front door.

"Hi, sweetheart," Was heard coming from within the house along with the child squealing for his daddy. 

Feeling wounded, Brian stood up in front of the windows, staring in. 

The man spotted him. He whispered to his wife, whom he was embracing, if she knew the kid outside. Confused, she turned around. Her hazel eyes locked with Brian's for a moment, then she quickly turned away. 

"No," She said. She walked over and closed the curtains, repeating the 'no' over to herself again as her footsteps faded away from the door.

With a hollow look, Brian turned to face Jamal, who had also been hiding in the shadows. "Let's try the next place," He murmured.

Jamal merely nodded as he took hold of Brian's shoulders.

_______________________________________________________

When they arrived several seconds later, Jamal immediately asked where they were. Brian explained that there was one last person he wanted to see, and this is where he would find her. Before them sat the coffee shop closest to Kelly's house.

With a deep breath, they walked in. 

Brian's gaze drifted around the store, from table to table, and he did not see what he had hoped to find. Kelly. 

Jamal excused himself to go buy a drink and Brian took a seat near the door. He slumped back into the wooden chair and ran his fingers through his now quite long dirty blonde hair. While in this position he sighed.

As he was leaned back, the bell on the door rang as someone entered. 

A familiar laugh drifted back to his ears. Brian bit his lip as he slowly brought his head up and brought her into his view. What he saw was sadly what he had half expected. Kelly was wrapped in the arms of some older guy. Her head was thrown back in laughter, as her thin arms were wrapped around his waist. 

Then, Jamal returned, paper cup of coffee in hand. He dark eyes shifted towards the two grinning teens as he walked back to where Brian sat. His gaze shifted between Brian and the couple a mere few yards away. With a downcast look, Brian stood.   
"Let's go." He said disappointment strung through his voice. He pushed his way out of the clear glass doors of the store, and was followed by Jamal, who patiently sipped his steaming latte.

__________________________________

Within the coffee shop, Kelly paused in her laughing. That voice behind her sounded so familiar. She turned around to see a tall, thin, blonde hair guy about her age leaving, with a look upon his face as if his entire world had died. Behind him walked an older, African man who seemed quite content to just drink his coffee ad made no move to comfort the boy. He looked so oddly familiar. The boy, not the African man. She paused, her head cocked slightly as she stared at their departing figure. Then she remembered. 

She remembered those years ago, the police. The rain. His declared love and promise to return. The tears that had followed for many days afterward. The long-lasting remarks made at school. She had been labeled as the rumors spread like wildfire. The pain. Kelly sharply inhaled her breath. She pushed herself free from her boyfriend's gentle grip and turned and while her gaze remained locked on the long lost figure outside, she began to walk towards them. 

As she opened the door, the tiny bell atop of it gave a cheerful chime. At the noise he looked back at her. They locked eyes. She mouthed his name as he gave a sad smile. 

"I came back." He whispered. "And I still love you," He added. Of course, he was too far away for her to hear him, but she could see him as he mouthed it. 

Then with another mournful smile, he disappeared.

Kelly stared at shock to the place where he had disappeared.

"Hey," Her boyfriends said, coming up behind her. "What was that?" He questioned, whispering in her ear.

She looked up at him, then back at the spot on the pavement. Had it really happened? Or just long forgotten mental scars resurfacing? 

She smiled as she looked up at him again. "An old friend, I think…," She said, trailing off.

___________________________________________

"So, did you see what you wanted to see?" Sadira questioned. She sat on the dusty mound they had left her only minutes before.

"No." Brian stated. _'I saw what I need to see,' _He thought.

Sadira shrugged. "You ready?" She asked.

Brian nodded. "I want to do this my way," He said. 

Sadira looked at him, concerned. "Do you know what you're doing?" She demanded.

Brian bit his lip and nodded. "I think I do."

Though she looked hesitant, Sadira nodded. She leaned over and gave Brian a hug. "Good luck," She whispered as she let go.

Brian maintained his sad smile as he waved good bye and closed his eyes. It would be the last time he saw them…


	25. The Approach

"Is everyone here?" Reza questioned into the thick darkness. He was met with several positive replies. 

He stepped down slowly from the sandy mound where he stood. He surveyed the small crowd before him the best he could through the night. Arizona's hot air made his black T-shirt cling to his body as he slowly approached the waiting crowd.

The seven of them were grouped together on a small hill several hundred yards away from the tall gates that encircled the camp. They had each been brought one by one by his personal teleporter, Helga. Helga was a rather manly body builder from Northern Europe who he used upon occasions such as this. 

Reza approached the spot several feet away where Logan, Mystique and John stood. He went seemingly unnoticed until he placed his hand on John's shoulder. John flinched, dropping a small metallic square, which he rushed to retrieve from the sandy dirt. 

"What's that?" Reza questioned, gesturing to the object as John stood up. John looked down and immediately put the object back into his coat pocket. 

"Nothing." He said shortly.

"Ah. Well anyway, I was wondering if we had been contacted yet by that kid." Reza said, changing the subject as his focus drifted to the older members of the group. Logan merely shrugged and Mystique stared with a slight smile.

"Okay, I guess I'll be over there finishing the last details. Be ready to go in about ten minutes." Reza said before turning and walking over to where his men sat in a loose circle on the ground.

Once he was gone, John took out the lighter again and immediately began flipping it open and shut.

Logan rolled his eyes. "And here I was, beginning to think you'd stopped that." He muttered. John glared at him. 

"Look, I've got a bad feeling about this," John began. 

"Shut it Pyro." Mystique snapped. "You've been talking about this for months."

John glared at her. "But –" He began but was cut off by Logan.

"You're just upset because you're not in charge anymore. Let's just get this damn thing over with." Logan growled, and with that, turned and began walking over to join Reza's group. Mystique gave an annoyed look to John before turning and doing the same herself. 

John stood there alone with his back to the group behind him. He flipped open the lighter and ignited a tiny flame. He smiled then slammed the lighter shut and placed it back into his pocket. This would all be over soon enough. That thought ran over and over again through his head as he turned and rejoined Reza's troops.

It would all be over soon enough.

___________________________________________________________

Amir sat watching, his eyes drifting around the circle. To his right was Reza, and on his left was one of Reza's bodyguards, who was running a worn rag over the edges of his old revolver. Then sat Logan, with the other guard next to him. This guard was busy checking through their arms inventory. Then there was Helga; her short-cropped blonde hair casting spiked shadows across her pale face. Mystique then sat between Helga and Reza, bringing the group full circle.

As Reza and John debated tactics, with the annoyed looks from the other adults, Amir was lost in his own thoughts. He wondered where Sadira had gone, and why. Had she maybe foreseen their failure and left? But why would she do that with out speaking to him or anyone for that matter. He cast a sideways glance at Reza, who was gesturing wildly with his hands and trying to restrain from raising his voice at John. Perhaps she had told Reza. He seemed so determined to pull this off; maybe he had ignored her statements. It certainly wouldn't be the first time he had done so. Amir snorted as he remembered the many times Reza had let his ego get the better of him.

But still the fact remained, Sadira was gone, and Reza was going to take down the camp even if he had to do it himself. He ran his tongue slowly over the skinny fangs that lay horizontally across the roof of his mouth. 

Reza sharply nudged him with his elbow, and his focus turned back towards the conversation, led mainly by Reza.

"John will be the diversion. The rest of us shall enter in two groups, Helga and Mystique shall enter from the front. Mystique shall disarm the security functions and Helga will provide a safety net incase things become too troublesome. Then Logan, My guards, and Amir shall enter. You five will have about twenty minutes until the system is fully restored. In this time, I advise you to free whom you can. When the twenty-minute window is nearly closed, I will contact each group via radio and send further instructions. Does everyone understand?" Reza asked, his eyes focused on John. 

"Yeah, I have one. Why aren't _you _going in?" John asked.

Reza's face remained neutral. "I will stay out here and keep watch over everything." He said in a monotone. To this, John snorted.

"Okay, fine then. John, you will stay here with me." Reza snapped.

John sneered. "Yeah right." He muttered. 

"Alright then, we may proceed. Boys, show me what you brought." Reza commanded, gesturing towards his two guards. With stony faces, they each picked up the large cases they had brought and opened them in unison. Within lay cases of top of the line handguns and small explosives. Reza gave a nod of approval. He leaned across the circle to take a further look at the small arms cache, then slid back. 

"Let's do this." He said; mainly for effect, Amir noted. But that was the way Reza was. Everything was a charade and everything was an illusion.

He felt a pair of large hands clap down on his shoulders. Amir stiffened, terrified. Then he heard a deep but short laugh from behind. "C'mon kid," Logan said as he began to walk in the direction of the camp. "We got some damage to do."

___________________________

"Holy…. Look Midge, look!" a middle-aged security guard yelled, nudging his sleeping partner. Midge mumbled as she sat up and pulled her graying muddy brown hair back under her beige guard cap. 

"What you talkin' bout?" She grumbled, wishing to go back to sleep.

"Look!" He persisted, pointing out into the distance.

Midge leaned forward, squinting off into the distance. Her muddy brown eyes quickly scanned across the darkened horizon, seeing nothing. Then her eyes widened. Small bursts of golden orange light were flying and jumping across the horizon line, just outside of the camp's walls. She turned to her partner. "You don't think…" She began trailing off as her eyes followed the balls of fire as they changed size and appeared to be in the process of being juggled by an invisible juggler.

"Oh yeah I do think," Came her partner's reply as he dialed the phone. "Yeah, this is Ted, down in Sector 2 dash 47. We got on hell of a problem brewin' down here." He declared into the phone. A moment later, he rejoined midge by the window, watching the mysterious tiny blazes.

"They're getting bigger," Midge began to say, but never finished as they just barely saw the fireball that consumed them and the station alive.

_______________________________________

"C'mon already!" John yelled into the darkness. He had been throwing these stupid little fireballs for nearly fifteen minutes already, and had he gotten even a hint of a response? No. Nothing! Not even a damn searchlight. 

John rolled his eyes and sighed. No more of this cautious cat and mouse game. With a grin he flipped open his lighter again and poured the fire out into his waiting left hand. He shaped it into a spherical fireball and let it grow. And grow. And grow. And as it did, John's eye's reflected the golden flame as he laughed.

Finally, when the ball of fire had grown beyond all natural sizes, John hurtled it with all his might towards the camp. He watched with a smile as the orange glow from the fire cast a luminous glowing streak across the sky as it peaked and began it's descent. Then, with a sudden speed, the fireball slammed into a small building, with such a force, the building shook and collapsed.

He watched for a moment, admiring his handiwork. And yet, besides the nearby fire of the building, nothing had changed. He was still alone, placed right outside the camp's border, in clear view of any one with the eyes in their head to see. John rolled his eyes before opening his lighter again to grow another ball. Much quicker this time, He hurled the fully-grown ball at the closet thing he could find. He was going to distract these idiots no matter what it took.

Several minutes, and quite a few fireballs later, John was finally able to hear the alarms going off and the whir of helicopter blades in the distance. To this he smiled and poured out another ball. 

"Bring it on," He whispered.

________________________________________

"Ja, you ready, missy?" Helga asked with a heavy German accent as she walked up behind Mystique. At the later end of the question, Mystique's yellow eyes narrowed and she fought back the urge to beat the overly buff woman to a pulp. Instead though, she merely turned and through clenched teeth told her companion that yes, she was ready and had been so for the last ten minutes.

Once getting the proper approval, Helga reached a muscular arm over and wrapped it around Mystique's shoulder. At the gesture, Mystique barely had time to stare down at the woman's arm wrapped halfway around her chest in an expression as close to horror as Mystique could get before they were gone.

A half-second later, they were standing in a very sterile looking hallway. The hall was dark, despite the shiny linoleum and stark white and steel interior. The two began walking down the hall with Mystique in the lead when Mystique suddenly turned around to face her follower.

"Why don't you," She began, realizing that she actually had to slightly look upwards to look this beast in the face. "I've got a new plan. Why waste so much of the guy's outside when you can just teleport them inside?" She said as sweetly as she could manage. Helga stared down at her for a moment before nodding. Immediately, she was gone.

Mystique turned and smiled. Too easy, she thought as she began to morph. 

A few minutes later, when she passed a doctor clad in a pair of teal blue scrubs, she gave a nod to him. He hurriedly nodded back, distracted. He had no time to converse with the typical twenty-something-new recruit the base got.

As he left, Mystique smiled as she ran her hands down her front, straightening out her new baggy military uniform. And as she passed a short stretch of steel paneling in the hall, she saw her self in her new form. She paused and examined her pale skin and adjusted her hat, then kept on walking.

__________________

Several minutes later, Mystique was siting coolly in the camp's main control room. With a few precise keystrokes, she had disabled the security systems on one screen while monitoring John's tempting of the guards on another. She withdrew a small radio from here pocket and set it to the frequency of the receiver Logan was supposed to be holding. 

"Yeah," Came the static reply.

"I sent the teleporter over to let you all in. You better hurry. There's some sort of alert coming from the mutant quadrant." Mystique said simply before shutting off the radio and replacing it in her pocket.

__________________________________

Brian opened his eyes slowly and coughed. He then surveyed his oddly familiar surroundings, with a sense of unease. Though he had seen pictures of the rooms probably hundreds of time and footage from the news and movies, it felt distinctly different to actually be here. Sitting in the desk, heels perched on the dark wood desk. 

With a sigh, he slowly put his feet down on the floor a stood up. He turned and looked sadly out the window. Below him stretched out the also oddly familiar stretch of perfect green grass, resembling a mini golf course. His eyes drifted over the bulletproof vest wearing guards that were placed sporadically through out the lawn. To this, he snorted. A lot of good they had done. 

With that thought, Brian walked out from behind the desk and walked in to the center of the room. Then, he remembered why he was really here. He could admire the scenery some other time…or then again, perhaps the view wasn't really what it was cracked up to be. He turned back to his desk and hit the intercom button.

"Yes?" A waiting secretary asked cheerfully.

"I need something. It's for an old friend of mine." He said slowly.

"Anything, sir." The secretary said, with a tinge of impatience.

"Ok, I need a gun." Brian said flatly.

"Excuse me sir," The secretary began.

"I don't care what kind. A gun that fires should work."

"Alright, Sir, I'll see what I can do…" The secretary replied.

"Make sure it has bullets." Brian said quickly before switching the intercom switch off. He turned and began to walk around the office, feeling good to be able to freely move around again.

Brian reflected on what Sadira had instructed him. If they didn't change something, everyone on the base plus many more were destined for death. Well, they were certainly changing things around. He withdrew a piece of blank stationary from the desk along with a navy blue fountain pen. Brian gently bit his lip as he began to write.

About half an hour later, he was disturbed by the creaking sound of the office door being opened. His head snapped up. 

Cautiously, a young man in a dark suit entered, holding a lacquered black tray. He approached the desk where Brian sat, and set down the tray.

Brian looked up and smiled at him. The man quickly averted his eyes.

Brian turned back to the tray and cast his gaze downwards. On the tray sat a polished revolver, with a small cup of spare bullets next to it. Beside those two items, sat a thin manila envelope. He questioned the many what it contained.

"Your speech, Sir." The man replied quickly.

"Speech?" Brian questioned, with a distinct sinking feeling.

"For tonight, sir." The man replied without hesitation.

"Tonight?" Brian questioned, beginning to feel like a parrot.

The man smiled. "Yes, the televised speech. It's all in there." He said gesturing to the envelope. Brian simply stared. "Is that it, Sir?" The man questioned.

Slowly, Brian nodded.

The man gave a quick, forced smile and a quick bow-like nod. "Glad to be of service, Mr. President."

Brian sat back, considering this speech. This could work to his advantage. He leaned over the desk and picked up the gun. He cradled it gingerly in his fingers, watching his changed reflection amid the gun's contours. 

Staring back at him was the middle-aged face of one Peter McIntosh, President of the United States of America.


	26. The Procedure

Reza stood impatiently outside of the camp. He was alone now, all of his minions out participating in his plan. He checked his watch. Only half an hour and they should all be long gone from this place. He was how his sister was doing, of gallivanting somewhere no doubt. Oh well, she could take her petty little intuitions and shove them. His plan was fool proof, and within an hour, he would get the credit for one of the greatest heists in years. He grinned as an orange glow shot up from the horizon. Looked like John was doing his job.  
  
_____________________________  
  
"Oh shit!" John yelled as he launched another fireball. He didn't take the time to wait and see if it hit its target, he turned and ran. In the last few minutes, the camp guards had systematically surrounded him. He could hear the fiery collision behind him, but John did not stop. He was fine with being the distraction – up until they had shot at him. Now, it was no longer the tactical game of cat and mouse that damn Reza had described.  
  
John ducked into a darkened storage shed. Gasping for breath, he kept out a watchful eye for the guards. Seeing no one, he withdrew his pocket radio from his singed canvas jacket.  
  
No answer from either Logan or Mystique. Or Reza for that matter.  
  
John cursed under his breath as he heard the sounds of approaching feet, and began to search for a hiding place in the crowded, dark room.  
  
________________________________  
  
Logan let out a stressed sigh and rolled his eyes. They had just entered through some deserted gate, apparently all the guards were chasing after John. At that thought, a smile almost crosses his face. Almost.  
  
Behind him Strode Reza's two hired hit men with an over confidence that really annoyed Logan. And off to the side walked that pale kid, Amir, who looked as if he was waiting for the ground to swallow him whole.  
  
As they approached a large building, which by Mystique's directions should be where the high threat level mutants were held. Logan stood in front of the opaque double doors, and looked them up and down. With a quick glance to the dead security box on the side, Logan reached forward and crammed his fingers into the crack between the two doors and shoved them open just enough for them to slide through single file.  
  
Once inside, Logan stopped one of Reza's guards, and instructed him to stay at the door. If they weren't back in half an hour, he should 'run like hell out of there.' And with those instructions, Logan turned and started walking down the dark hall. Amir and the other guard quickly followed though.  
  
Debris littered the hall, as did the occasional pool of murky water. In a few places, splattered blood and dents decorated the metallic walls.  
  
Logan cast a glance behind him. Amir seemed increasingly nervous while the guard remained as stone-faced as ever. When the trio came to a division of the hall, Logan spoke up.  
  
"Why don't we split up," He said, turning down the left side of the hall. The guard remained motionless for a moment before turning down the right hall. Amir cast glances down each hall then with a nod, he started running down the left hall to catch up with Logan.  
  
Just as Logan was feeling proud of himself for finally being able to do this his way, without those flunkies following him, he heard the sound of faced paced footsteps growing louder. Since the place was nearly deserted, he assumed it was one of those darn flunkies. Probably the kid as he doubted the large hit man could get his body to move that quickly.  
  
Moments later, His fears were confirmed as an out of breath Amir came up behind him.  
  
Logan swore under his breath. Then he withdrew in his breath. "Don't do that." He instructed before continuing on his walk.  
  
"Do what?" Amir questioned.  
  
"Be so loud. And don't sneak up on me." Logan said shortly, looking around the hall for any sign they were headed in the right direction.  
  
"Why?"  
  
Logan swore again. Then in a flash he popped his claws and sprung around and had them within centimeters of Amir's neck.  
  
"Oh." Was all the boy could manage. Logan sneered and kept walking, leaving his claws out. He paused every few steps to take a sniff, he could tell something was up.  
  
Then they came to the first of the cell doors. All of these were deactivated as well, so they were easily forced open. When Logan opened them though, he immediately took a step back, fanning the air with his hands. Inside the cell lay the body of a thirty-something Asian man. The body was a deathly white, nearly blue. Logan turned and backed away, leaving the door open. Amir walked quickly after him, averting his eyes from the body.  
  
When Logan moved to open the next cell, he was met with the same results. Over and over again, dead bodies. The smell was already becoming over powering, though Logan doubted these people had been dead very long. Disgusted, he pulled out his radio to talk to Mystique.  
  
"Yeah?" She questioned.  
  
"What the hell happened out here?" Logan demanded.  
  
"What are you talking about?" Mystique asked questioningly.  
  
"I've gone through several dozen cells and everyone's dead Mystique. What happened?" He demanded again.  
  
"I don't know." Mystique said, pausing. "There seems to be some activity a hundred yard to your left. Go down the next hall up." She instructed, watching them wander around on the security cameras.  
  
"Ok. How much time left do we have?" Logan questioned, beginning to walk with a fast pace down the hall.  
  
"Don't worry about that. I can keep their system down for quite some time." Mystique replied confidently.  
  
Logan rolled his eyes and turned off his radio. As soon as he had done so, Amir immediately questioned what was going on. To this, Logan merely shrugged and continued to follow Mystique's instructions. The hall began to steadily slop downward, and several feet in, the lights all turned off. In the distance though, a small beam remained, probably from a forgotten flashlight. Logan confidently walked down, keeping a look out while doing so.  
  
A few moments later, Logan had reached the point of light. It was indeed a forgotten flashlight. Logan cautiously picked it up, and noticed a spilled tray besides it. Whoever had left, left in a hurry. Syringes and a spilled mixture of various liquids lay randomly spattered across the floor, as was a soaked pile of papers. Logan stood up, flashlight in hand. He turned around and surveyed the hall they had just come down. It was about as long as Mystique had described in their brief conversation, so Logan assumed whatever was alive, they were close to it. He turned back towards the direction he had been walking. Another pair of metal double doors stood in front of him, which he pried open just as easily as the rest. When he entered, Logan froze and loudly cursed. As far as he could see, cell doors ran down the brightly-lit steel hall. He heard Amir enter in behind him, and mutter something in a foreign dialect. Logan assumed it meant the same thing he had said too though.  
  
"How long do we have?" Amir questioned, as they both stood frozen in place.  
  
Logan began walking towards the first cell on his right. "According to Mystique, however long it takes. I'd say maybe an hour. Tops." He added. Amir let out a low whistle.  
  
"Don't just stand there, try and open that," Logan commanded, gesturing with his shoulder towards the cell opposite his. One thing Logan immediately noticed was that these cells were definitely harder to open. But not impossible. When he did manage to pry the door open enough for him to slide through, Logan a very familiar figure chained to the wall. It was Scott.  
  
"Scott?" Logan questioned as he approached the still form. No response. Logan tentatively reached out and touched the man's shoulder, taking note that Scott was lacking any eye gear. Scott's skin was cold. Unnaturally cold, and stiff. Logan took an involuntary step back. Scott was dead. Scott, dead? It was nearly unfathomable. Logan was slowly walking out of the cell backwards, his eyes glued on Scott's lifeless body when he heard Amir shouting for him. Logan took one last look at the body before rushing out to see what was causing the boy's shouting.  
  
Amir was six cells down the hall, waving for Logan to help him. Logan took off towards him in a half jog, his mind distracted. When he reached the cell and looked in, his eyes slightly widened. The cell was several feet thick with a foamy padding of sorts, but in the center sat a curled up form, long red hair covering up its face.  
  
"Hello?" Amir asked, leaning in. Logan pushed him aside to lift up the person's head to try and get a pulse. When Logan pushed the head back, the red hair fell back to reveal the vaguely familiar faces of one of Xavier's students. As he touched her neck with two fingers, trying to locate a pulse, a pair of gray eyes snapped open. Her mouth opened and she screamed. It was then that Logan remembered this student. Amir shot backwards out of the cell, frantically trying to cover his ears. Logan simply reached forwards and clamped her mouth shut.  
  
Feeling quite ridiculous, Logan reintroduced himself to the girl and helped her stand. It was then that he finally removed his hand from her mouth. He handed the weak teenager over to Amir then continued on to the next cell.  
  
___________  
  
Twenty-some minutes later, Logan guessed they had gone through nearly two hundred cells and so far they only had about thirty live mutants to show for it. About five of them besides Siryn he recognized as younger students from the Mansion. But, none of the other X-men had been found, nor had any of the older students. He had given up trying to keep pace with Amir and had gone off quite sometime ago. Most of the freed mutants were too weak do search, but the several that could manage were much farther behind him.  
  
Logan let out a deep sigh and rubbed his forehead with his hands. He was nearing another bend in the tunnel. The further away from the group he got, the more worried he became for them. Eventually, the guards up above were gonna remember about them down here and then they'd have a problem.  
  
Logan found himself at the next cell, smirking up at the door. Stenciled on the thick door with a matte black paint gave the simple warning of 'no metal beyond this point.' There was only one person that could be in that cell. Logan moved to the next cell with a smile. This one, as he soon realized, could only hold one possible resident. Bold warnings adorned the front, as did threats to all that entered. It was only fitting those two would be placed next to each other, Logan mentally noted as he began to open the door. The cell was a miniature version of Cerebro. Logan walked slowly in, looking around as he went. The platform, the walls, everything matched. Except, at the end of the platform, instead of the usual low table and helmet Xavier used, there was a high table. On this table, Xavier lay stretched out. From his head, many electrodes and wires sprang, leading up to a computer display. As Logan slowly approached, He first took sight of the flashing computer. A warning box had popped up, and in bold letters it was declaring a system failure. Then underneath, in smaller print, it declared the patient needed emergency care, and next to it was a flashing clock that had already struck zero. Logan's eyes darted from the screen, down to Xavier's still body. With shock, he realized what the computer meant.  
  
"No!" Logan breathed, but as soon as he touched the Professor's body, he realized the computer was telling the truth. The Professor's skin was cool and firm. Logan quickly left the room.  
  
His radio beeped. Reluctantly, Logan withdrew it from his pocket.  
  
"Yeah?" He questioned. He heard John scream a curse then the sound of gunfire. Then, only static remained.  
  
Concerned, Logan tried to contact Mystique, but there was no answer there either. This time, Logan swore, and turned and began to walk back to where he had left the group. He didn't get very far before he saw they were surrounded by heavily armed and protected soldiers. Logan snarled as the popped his claws and began to stride forward.  
  
Logan never saw the bullet that struck the middle of his forehead, point- blank. He fell backwards, blood splattering across the hall. 


	27. The Death

Amir felt blood in his mouth. He could feel himself shaking, and his arms hurt like hell. Hid wrists were bound together and attached to the ceiling. He dangled about two feet off the floor. He could just barely wedge his legs against the walls to relieve the pressure on his arms. The bruises to his arms and legs were beginning to turn a deep lavender, speckled with a green-blue. 

He cast a sideways glance towards were the rest of their small group sat. Logan was bound to a chair on the floor, head lolled back and forehead bloody. His knuckles were bound tightly on each side of his neck, pointing slightly upwards. Amir assumed this was so if by chance Logan survived the bullet, he'd slice his own neck and head open with his claws. But he couldn't see how anyone could have survived that shot. 

On the other side of Logan, was John. They had hooked John up into a sort of isolation tank. Several feet deep, and just long enough for a person, it was similar to a cross between a coffin and a fancy aquarium. John lay submerged in the water, a breathing mask covering most of his face. 

And on the other side of John, was Mystique. She, like Logan was bound tightly to a chair. Most of her right side was covered in blood. Her red hair looked singed, as did her ski in places. She caught Amir's eye and gave him a cold glare. Amir's eyes snapped back to their former position of blankly staring forward.

He wasn't exactly sure how they had all been captured. He had been trying to coax one of the traumatized mutants into getting up, when suddenly he had heard the sound of gunfire. He had tried to figure out where it was coming from, but almost instantaneously, heavily armed soldiers clad in bulletproof material had overtaken them. Finally, he heard one last shot and turned just in time to see Logan fall back. From there, he had blacked out and awoken here. That was probably about forty minutes ago, perhaps an hour.

His arms tingled, becoming numb. Amir adjusted his shoulders as he tried to push his legs out further, trying to keep from a clear out hanging position. 

_________________

John forced his eyes open again. He got a flash of sight before the water attacked his eyes with a stinging fury. He quickly pressed his eyes closed again and took a deep breath into the mask that covered his nose and mouth. With each breath of metallic air, he feared the next might be his last. This had already resulted in him hyperventilating earlier. But now, he had sort of given up. 

Water, or more specifically, drowning, had always been one of his hidden fears. 

Mentally, John cursed himself for getting caught. He had been dodging through buildings and flames, trying to contact someone, anyone. He had finally reached Mystique and convinced her to leave with him. This had long ago grown too intense for his taste. But, somewhere between leaving the building and meeting Mystique, he had dropped his radio into the flames. As it burned, it let out a loud screech. John paused, turning back to look at it and he tripped into another pillar of flame. It hadn't burned him, but between the movement he caused trying to get it off by sending it away in little blasts and the noise of the dying radio, he had quickly been surrounded. They had dragged him into this large room and much to his protest, submerged him in this tank where he now lay. 

His heart began to race as the memory of being blindly dropped into the tank. He knew his air supply wouldn't last more than several hours. It seemed like days he had been in here. Though the logical part of his mind told him it couldn't have been much more than an hour.

_________________________________________________________________________

"Sir, are you ready?" An aide questioned, poking his head in the door. "Everything is set up downstairs."

Brian let out a long sigh and rubbed his temples. In front of him on the desk sat the speech he had prepared, and a special letter or two he had also been working on for the last few hours. He glanced at his watch. It was nearly seven in the morning. Might as well get an early start, he though as he stood and with a fluent motion that went unnoticed by the aide, Brian slipped the gun into his jacked pocket.

He then took one last look around before following the aide.

Over the last few hours, he had been wondering how everything was going back in Arizona. It must be about four AM there. He prayed that this would actually work. If not, well… It had better work.

His chest felt tight and his breaths were shallow as he entered the large conference room. Half a dozen film crews as well as a throng of reporters were group around the raised stage and famous wooden podium. 

Brian felt his hands begin to lightly shake as he was surrounded by both advisors and makeup artists. Then the rest of the room realized he had entered and a round of applause broke out as flashbulbs began going off. An aide gave a slight push towards the stage and whispered a quick good luck in his ear.

With slow steps, Brian scaled the stage and approached the podium. Once there, he took a moment to let his eyes fully take in the sight of the camera crews, reporters, and the occasional cabinet member hidden in the background. He then glanced down at the speech he had prepared and adjusted his dark blue tie while doing so. 

He then looked up, a new sense of determination in his eyes. And then he began.

"Good morning Ladies and Gentlemen. I'm sure you are all quite anxious to hear what I have to say." Brian began with a slightly cynical opening statement. A polite laugh went through his audience.

"As I was saying, You are all here to listen to what I have to say. So shall we? Dim the lights please." He instructed. It was quickly done, as a screen began to lower behind him.

"I have something to show all of you," Brian said, flipping on the slide show with a remote kept in the podium. A navy blue screen flashed up, with the elaborate presidential seal underneath a bold white title. _'Base One, Arizona, USA'_ was written out clearly. He watched as a few nervous glances were cast amongst the government workers in the back while the reporters near the front began scribbling down notes rapidly.

Brian hit the button for the next slide, and this time it showed a black and white aerial view of the camp. Large blocky buildings were clearly visible along with the fences that seemed to stretch on and on. Wordlessly, Brian brought up the next slide. This was a closer up picture of the base's front gates. 

__

'BASE ONE was etched into the metal sign next to the front gates. But, when Brian zoomed in, a smaller text appeared directly underneath the larger print. _'Facility for the containment and eradication of mutants'_, it read. A collective murmur went through the room.

"I am sharing this with you all because I, Peter McIntosh have committed a horrible act. Not just one act, but many. As you all shall soon see." Brian said tightly as he flipped to the next slide. This time, the screen was filled with a shot of one of the labs. Thankfully, prior to his escape, Brian had never visited one of the mutant labs. At least, not when he was conscious. Inside the room, various methods of torture could be seen, as well as shelves of drugs and liquids. 

Brian cleared his throat. "I have a document, from only a mere few days ago to share with you all." He began, leafing through his stack of papers. Then he found it. It was the official document demanding the use of experimental Serum 128, no matter what circumstances. As he explained to the audience, he didn't care what happened to these people. Eventually, they would find a drug that would work and the rest…oh well. He made it clear that though he was unaware of the drug's results to date, he did know of some previous experimental drug usage amongst the camp's prisoners. And then he held up the several page long list of deaths do to consumption. Then, he flipped to the next slide. A tiny face from a day long ago filled the screen.

"And this, this is a young girl I had committed. She's five years old and a mutant. What was her crime against humanity that made her a serious threat? Her eyes were different. They had unusual patterns and she was noted to occasionally be able to see through things." Brian paused, and lifted up another paper from his messy stack. He held it up, though no one could read it. 

"She died four months later, from a beating." He said, flipping up the next slide. It showed a plain cement sell, on the floor of which lay the tattered body of a small child. She lay facedown in the cement, large purple and green blotches splattered her pale skin. Parts were raw and bloody. But the thing that got to you was her neck, it was bent at a completely unnatural angle, obviously broken.

Brian cleared his throat. "I met Emily Sumner on an execution day at the camp. The first executions were done swiftly by guillotine or gunshot, but as you can see, they became quickly more and more brutal."

His eyes drifted across the audience. Reporters sat hunched over, hurrying to take notes while others sat in stunned silence, most likely carrying a tape recorder somewhere. And in the back, he could see the pale, confused faces of his officials talking concerned amongst themselves.

He continued to flip through slides similar to the last one, each showing a gruesome and quite unspeakable act made towards the prisoners. Then, after nearly an hour and a half, he realized he had to begin to draw this into a close. 

Brian loudly cleared his through, and turned off the slideshow. He instructed for the lights to come back on and he paused for a moment to let everyone's eyes adjust to the blinding light.

"After what you all have seen, I have one statement to make: I am sorry. I know that is not enough, but I must say it. We must make strides to eliminate this scientific form of racism. As of today, I am officially closing Base One. I am also setting up an official group of advisers to ensure this never happens again. This group will be made up of mutants and Invalids, elected into office just like any normal human being." Brian stopped there to catch his breath.

"I must move to say, that if he is still living, I appoint the first head of the Mutant Commission to be Robert Drake, a young man I met at Base One. To him, I must say thanks." Brain genuinely smiled at the camera, hoping Ice would someday see a recording of this.

"We must eliminate prejudice. We must unite as one. Mutant, Human, InValid. This war over genes and mutations must come to an end or else I fear that it will destroy us all." With that statement, a lone member of the crowd stood up clapping, then a few more joined until most of the audience was on their feet, clapping. Brian forced a smile, gesturing for them all to sit. They promptly did so. 

Brian's hands felt sweaty as he casually reached down into his pocket and brushed his warm skin up against the cool metal of the handgun. The sounds of the room began to blur, as did the images. Everything slowed and colors blurred, voices becoming a loud mix of ominous noise as he swept his panicked eyes across the audience. 

"I…I'm sorry for what I did. I hope everyone can forgive me by keeping the words of my speech in memory and keeping my commission going for as long as possible. Thank you and, I'm sorry." Brain said, and at the end, he took an abrupt step back from the podium and pulled out the gun. Before anyone could realize what he was doing, he had it pointed to his temple. And with one last plead for forgiveness, He pulled the trigger.

Screams erupted throughout the conference hall as the spectators watched the President's body crumble, blood sprayed across the stage. Secret Service agents quickly rushed the stage, checking McIntosh's body for any sign of life. They found none. And at 8:37 am, Tuesday morning of late May 2009, Peter McIntosh was pronounced dead.

__________________________________

The water in John's tank quivered slightly and loud pangs rang out as someone approached. His heart raced once again as louder ticks and whirls could be heard coming from above and behind his head. Suddenly, the water began to flow away and he was able to open his eyes. A white ceiling filled his vision. Suddenly, a masked man filled his sights. John struggled to pull away as a pair of gloved hands reached down towards his face, but there was nowhere to go in the narrow cell. But, it turned out the hands merely were removing the mask. John took in a deep breath of real air as he sat up. The man removed his mask and gave him a half smile.

"Congratulations," The man said, extending his hand. John ignored him as he hoisted himself out of the tank. He stood, and suddenly felt overcome by dizziness. He reached out and involuntarily grabbed the man's shoulder to steady himself. The man gave a slight chuckle and helped direct John to an empty chair by the door. John sat down and watched the man tend to each of his friends. One by one, they joined him over at the door. Logan was the last. He was wiping burgundy, dried blood off his forehead and trying to scrape it out of his hair when he joined the other three, followed closely by the man.

"Apparently, you four have got friends in high places." The man said. When he got no reply from the dazed four, he continued. "Just this morning, our President, bless his soul, demanded as one of his dying wishes you bunch be set free in advance. Anyway, follow me and I will escort you outside." The man said, walking down the hall.


	28. The Epilogue

"And thus I conclude our memorial ceremony with a moment of silence." Bobby Drake said from the podium, slightly bowing his head. As he did so though, his eyes drifted upwards to watch the crowd before him. The crowd numbered in the hundreds, possibly even several thousand. It was mid-July, and in Arizona, you don't want to attend an outdoor ceremony for very long. And especially not one as controversial as this. 

Bobby dropped his eyes back down to the podium for a moment, remembering the last two months. He had been taken from his cell one day around the first of June, nearly a month and a half ago now. The camp officials had briefly told him he had been awarded a position of sorts and would be overseeing things from now on. Then, it was out of the camp's gates and into the throngs of the eager press. Through scattered snippets and short conversations, Bobby quickly learned that the current President, whom was now the former President after his Suicide had left him the chairman of some new mutant committee. This came as quite a shock, as prior to that day he hadn't even heard of the man. 

But, everything had been made clear in the following days. Once he checked into a hotel – with money given to him by this McIntosh guy; Bobby soon received a letter from an old friend. It had been several pages long, the first just describing the immediate situation, and the rest were bundled together retelling the time he had spent since they had last seen each other. It had all been hand written on stationary emblazed with the presidential seal, and even personalized for McIntosh. Then a few days later, another letter arrived, this one legally explaining his new position in the government, should he choose to accept. Of course he did, and quickly he moved to hasten the release of the remaining prisoners of Base One.

Within the first two weeks, over seventy percent of the prisoners had been released, and he had returned to the mansion. The mansion had been left deserted in the three years the residents had been in captivity. The lawns and gardens overgrown, casting a jungle atmosphere which became more of a haunted mansion atmosphere as night fell. Windows were blown out, the rooms long ago looted. But the rooms underground remained untouched, as did the secret catacomb-like tunnels. He had also found a cache of the Professor's personal documents, including old letters between him and Eric and his will. At the time though, he had still assumed the Professor was coming back, so he had left the files alone. 

Slowly, with funds Xavier had left in case of such an occurrence as had just happened, Bobby began to restore the school and locate students as they were released. He also kept the mansion open to all the dislocated and traumatized detainees as they were released in small groups. One day he got a phone call from Logan, and they arranged to meet in a small town several hours away from the mansion. Over drinks Bobby listened as Logan told of the days he spent planning and plotting with Mystique and John. Of the terrorists they had hired, who had mysteriously disappeared within hours of release. And finally, what it was like to go through the cells. Finding the bodies of Scott and Xavier, along with the numerous bodies of unknown mutants. Then, Logan had just gotten up and left, leaving Bobby alone in the bar. That was the last he had seen of Logan until today. He had spotted him coming in to the service. 

Bobby lifted his head and saw people starting to stand and leave. He turned around and his vision was filled with the black marble wall that stood behind him. Standing at six feet tall around fourteen feet long was the memorial, engraved with the names of the victims of Base One to date. He reached out and ran his fingers across one name that stood out from the neat columns. '_Marie "Rogue_" _D'Ancanto_'. A sigh escaped his lips as he turned and walked off the stage.

As Bobby moved to withdraw his dark sunglasses from his jacket pocket, he came face to face with a long forgotten friend. John Allerdyce. Bobby paused, staring at his former friend. It had been over six years since he had seen John. God, how he had changed. Yet at the same time he was the same person as the teen that used to be his roommate. Then their eye's connection was broken by a flurry of passing people. Bobby let himself get swept away. He kept his eyes from looking back to where he knew John remained. He didn't have the time to rekindle broken friendships. No time to argue about years long past, or to listen to John complain about his problems. Bobby kept walking out towards where his car and driver were waiting. He passed by press people, and inquisitive citizens posing to make a comment or offer questions. He couldn't stay any longer, haunted by the ghosts of the past.

But, when he reached his car, a foreign luxury car that sported a spotless black paint, Bobby hesitated. He turned around and cast another gaze backwards. He had to face the past sometime. His eyes caught John's still staring gaze and noticed him turn to look at another group of people. In the distance, Logan stood alone- wearing his worn leather jacket, head still bowed. Not too far away was Ororo and Nightcrawler, the only remaining X-men. Then, walking up behind John was Mystique. She stood there calmly in her natural, bare blue-skinned glory, her hand gently reaching up to touch John's shoulder. She leaned over to whisper something in his ear and upon hearing this, he bowed his head. 

Perhaps it was curiosity that caused Bobby to walk over there. Perhaps the need to bring closure to everything after all this time. Maybe it was because of their history he couldn't just into that car and drive away. Maybe it was all of these things – or maybe none. Either way, Bobby Drake walked over with confident strides and stood expectantly in front of his friend. He told him they needed to take a ride together before leading him over to the waiting car.

Once inside, John looked up at him. He asked where they were going.

"Home," Bobby replied, turning to look forward. "Home." He repeated softly.

__________________________

A/N: And thus, we conclude 'Night'. Eighty-eight days later, twenty-eight Chapters and over forty-five thousand words later, we are finally done! Hope y'all enjoyed it, I never imagined it would go this far (or have such great reviewers!)

Speaking of reviewers, I want to thank each one of you, but I especially want to thank Pendragon4, Kasey22, Guin, TornadoAlly, Musiqboy, and more recently, Du Soleil Oriental, for all their great and continuing reviews. You guys are the best!

Well, here we go- the end. Hope I see some of you again on my next piece!

~ Remnants-2011


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